December Domestics
by strikingtwelve
Summary: The Doctor returns for Clara on December 1st, but any plans to fly away are diminished when the TARDIS breaks down, leaving him trapped in 21st Century London. Rooming with Clara during his 'imprisonment' doesn't do much for his dignity, but once the two overcome much awkward tension, he realizes that maybe being domestic isn't so bad, so long as you're with the right person.
1. A Reunion Gone Wrong

**_December 1st_**

It had been months. _It had been months_ since she'd heard that noise. Months since she'd heard anything even _slightly_ associated with that noise. Months since she'd said what she'd thought had been a final goodbye. Months since she'd seen _him._

She initially thought she was dreaming. Or hallucinating. It had happened before, of course. The series of tragedies in her life piling up on each other didn't make her day to day life that easy towards the beginning. But eventually it had faded. She'd regained her common sense. And the recognition that...he wasn't coming back. Neither of them.

So why were the thoughts returning? Why were her ears playing such tricks on her...especially at the peak of her healing.

But of course, she wasn't hallucinating. It wasn't a dream. It was completely, utterly, real. It wasn't until she saw the pulsating light atop the slow appearing blue box that she finally managed to accept what was happening.

Clara sat straight up in bed, eyes fixed straight ahead as the watched the TARDIS dematerialize with a loud thud. Her slightly pale fingers gripped at the bedsheets around her, tangling them up in her tight grasp. She crossed her legs, keeping the duvet pulled up to her waist, and found herself leaning forward slightly. Squinting a bit. Tilting her head. Was this actually _real_? She felt the strangest urge cry as she saw the door crack open ever so slightly. Immediately after doing so it closed again, only to open right back up. Finally, she caught sight of one boot-clad foot stepping tentatively onto her carpet, immediately followed by another. It took a minute to convince herself to draw her gaze upward, to lift her eyes from the floor to actually meet his. She was a bit scared, she admitted to herself. Scared of what she might find there. Would she find sorrow? Despair? Hatred? Anger?

"Clara?"

There it was. She couldn't go on denying him like this. He was there. He was with her. And when she felt his cold, but strong hand grip her shoulder, she was able to confirm;

He was real.

"Doctor?" She looked to her right and up just a bit. There he stood, looming at her bedside, looking into her eyes with his deep blue, unreadable gaze.

He sniffed a bit and broke his gaze from hers, scrunching up his face as his eyes swept across her messy bedroom. "You've really let yourself go."

She laughed a little. Just a little, she couldn't handle much more. Her lips quirked up in a lopsided smile, and she brought her gaze back down her her lap. She absentmindedly alternated between twirling her mum's ring around on her finger, and taking on and off the bracelet delivered from the other side. From Danny.

A very loud silence surrounded them before the Doctor finally seated himself on the side of the bed.

"How long's it been?" He asked hesitantly.

"Few months." She replied simply. "Its December 1st."

"Ah." He gave a little nod of understanding.

Then the silence returned.

"How've you been?" She finally spoke up.

"Oh, you know me, perfectly fine." He grinned. "How's P.E?" The Doctor frowned at the sight of her flinching at the words, watching as her expression suddenly became grave. "Clara?"

"Hm?" She looked up, plastering a smile on her face. "Oh, he's good. We're good." She winced as her voice cracked slightly right at the end, praying he didn't notice. "How are things on Gallifrey?"

"Fine." He replied a bit too quickly. "Everything's fine." He cast a glance backward, pointedly looking at the TARDIS. "We've had a bit of an error, though. The navigation system is fried again. That or she's being stubborn. She brought me here, and won't let me take off."

"Ah." She muttered, realization dawning. "So, you're only here by accident, then?"

He didn't reply, just mentally kicked himself for daring to speak his thoughts aloud.

"Its okay." She assured him. "Don't worry about it." With a little sigh, Clara lowered her head and laid back down. She insecurely bundled the blankets up around her shoulders, wrapping them a little too tightly in attempt to feel a bit of unfulfillable, empty closeness. "Good to see you."

The Doctor's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to reply, but shut it as soon as he felt his voice beginning to wobble. Was that it? After neither of them seeing the other for several months, was this all they would receive in the reunion he'd been forever longing for? Was this really it?

He wanted to say something. He wanted to _do _something. He wanted to tell her how happy he was to see her. How much he'd longed for their meeting. He wanted to hug her... He wanted to give her hand a little comforting squeeze. He wanted her to _see _him.

But there was no point. She'd made her decision. She had a new life now. Possibly even a family to be soon with Danny. She didn't have room for him in her life. Not anymore.

But as he stood up and began making way for the TARDIS, he managed to ask one more thing. "So where _is _Mr. Pink?"

He was sure her voice was laced with emotion...possibly even accompanied by a tear. He watched as she nestled herself deeper into her bed and buried her face into the heart of her pillow as she muttered, "Gone."


	2. Roommates

_**December 2nd**_

The last thing she'd expected upon awakening was to see the big blue box still parked in the corner of her little bedroom. She was sure it had been a dream. She was sure it had just been one big fantasy her aching subconscious had created. But there it stood, tearing down every previous assumption.

She was a bit hesitant crawling out of bed and inching herself closer to the doors. It was surprising to find them unlocked, easily swinging open at the slight shove she gave.

The Doctor lay on his back beneath the console, messing with various wires and silicone strips that stuck out at different angles from inside a little panel that opened from the base. Completely immersed in his work, he took no notice of Clara slowly approaching her side. When she cleared her throat to announce her presence, he jumped in surprise, wincing and rubbing his head dramatically after whacking it on the underside of the console. He cursed under his breath, sliding on from beneath and dusting himself of as he rose to his feet. "Hi." He stated gruffly.

Clara folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the railing right inside the doors. "You're still here." She acknowledged.

He huffed. "Did you not pay any attention last night? I'm stuck. TARDIS is jacked up." He kicked the console in frustration, muffling his groan of pain into his palm as he hopped on one foot over to the jump seat. "She won't let me fly off."

She gave a little hum of understanding, shifting her feet around slightly. "So what are you gonna do?"

"Nothing I can do, really. Its some sort of bug inside the system. She has to work it out herself." He shrugged. "Just have to wait, I suppose."

"You got a bedroom in here, then? Somewhere you can sleep?"

"'Course I do. But for some reason she's sealed off each corridor entrance. Must just be another glitch." He shot the machine a scowl, irritated at her for not behaving properly.

Clara gave a mere halfhearted chuckle, staring at the floor and considering. "So, what you're saying is that you don't have a place to sleep."

"I don't need sleep. I'm a Time Lord." He reminded her with a little prideful smirk. "But if I _did, _then sure. You're right. No place to sleep."

She watched him for a moment, watched his divided attention and uncomfortable movements, knowing exactly what he was thinking. Knowing what he wanted, what he was afraid to ask. She didn't blame him, really. Despite their history, despite their friendship, and especially with the lingering tension between the two, it had to be a bit uncomfortable.

But that didn't mean she was planning on making it easy on him.

"Alright then." She said with a shrug, having to bite her lip to contain a laugh at the crestfallen expression suddenly plastered onto his face. Or was she imagining it? "Have fun with that." She turned heel and began to walk out, deliberately slowing her steps somewhat and casting a half-glance over her shoulder. The Doctor never spoke out, though. He never called for her to turn around, he never requested a place to stay with her until he fixed his machine, never said anything. He just stood there, gaze fixed on nothing, his emotions being the one thing Clara couldn't see. With a little sigh she succumbed into acceptance, and turned slightly around to face him. "You can stay with me." She finally announced. "If you want to that is."

She was surprised at how hurt she was when he didn't say anything at first. As if she'd just expected him to immediately agree without question.

"Sure."

Again, not the response she'd been expecting. But Clara did nothing more than give a small nod before turning her back again, dragging her feet along the metal grating of the TARDIS floor until she was back in her own bedroom.

* * *

The Doctor knew that Clara was unaware of his deep stare fixed on a spot on the back of her head as she exited the box. He couldn't break his gaze away. He was in a sort of a state of shock, mentally kicking himself, screaming at himself, reprimanding himself all on repeat. How stupid could he be?

He came here in the first place so that he could be reunited with her. Well, he hadn't _meant _to come here, the TARDIS had done that part, but he'd been planning on getting around to it himself anyways. But still, he wanted their friendship back. He needed it. He knew far too greatly of the great wall of tension that still seemed to separate them, although, he was yet to find out the source of the indifference.

But he'd had a chance. He had a chance and he'd missed it. He'd frozen up. Of course he wanted to stay with her! Nothing better to do, after all, since the _damn TARDIS still wouldn't let him fly off. _But he'd acted like a complete idiot and frozen to the spot. _Sure? _Bit more like _Absolutely, Clara! Thank you for the offer!_

Didn't matter anymore, anyways. Not that it would have gone like that even _if _he'd thought things through a bit better. This regeneration was old, awkward, and cold. He couldn't seem to get anything straight nowadays, and he still wasn't quite used to it.

* * *

"Doctor, you're my friend and all, but you're not sleeping in my bed." Clara teased lightly, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her dressing gown. She stood hovering in the living room doorway, watching the Doctor's disgruntled expression after hearing her announcement of the sleeping arrangements.

She watched in amusement as he carefully lowered himself onto the sofa, shifting around slightly as if getting a feel for the approximate estimate of plushness and comfort. The little hum he gave was satisfactory, but as soon as he laid back and stretched his limbs longways across the length of the furniture piece, Clara laughed out loud.

"You can't be serious about this." He whined loudly, frowning at the way his feet hung off the edge of the sofa. "I'm too tall." It wasn't that he was planning on sleeping. Surely he wouldn't be trapped long enough for his next sleep cycle to begin calling his attention. But even if he had to, he'd _never _sleep in here. Not in the same place as Clara. He couldn't, and he hoped she'd never find out why.

"Tough." She stated simply, giving his ear a flick as she passed him on her journey to the kitchen. "You want a place to sleep, that's where you're gonna be."

"Fine." He huffed, rolling sideways back to the ground and lifting himself up to his feet. "I suppose it'll do."

"Oi, you could thank me you know. I didn't have to let you stay."

"But you did." He smirked, flicking her nose in return as he pushed past her side and headed back to the TARDIS.


	3. Relieving the Boredom

_**December 3rd**_

December third. The third day of December. 337th day of the year. Wednesday. 3:14:03 p.m.

The Doctor felt...outside of time in a way. Funny for him to say, really, since life in the TARDIS meant he _literally _lived outside of the reality of time. But even without his ship he felt...odd. Restless. Itching for movement. Confined even in the acceptably large space. He counted down every tenth of a second when he got bored. Yes, his fail at settlement had come to _that. _

He'd given up on trying to repair the navigation system. It was an internal error; there was nothing he could do. The old girl had to figure it out on her own. But being stuck in one place, with the _slowest _moving time _ever, _and just a control freak of a girl for company, he was _bored. _

How did humans cope with moving along through time at a normal pace anyways? It was so boring. He tried to occupy his time, but it never seemed to help. For a while at first, as in the first two days, he was fairly content with resting inside the TARDIS. He'd even find himself dozing off and on from a little shady pocket beneath the console, or find himself occupied by watching the rotor move up and down. He felt safe there in his home. Happy.

Well, he did at first.

"Doctor, just _settle down _for a moment, will you?! Take a breath. Have a seat. _Relax._" Clara had her arms slightly extended in the midst of her attempt to sooth the forever pacing Time Lord confined to her flat. He walked from one end to the house at a speedy pace, knocked his head against the door, then walked to the other end to plop down on Clara's bed.

Then he'd repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat...

"How the hell do you do this!?" He demanded, making a quick detour to place his hands briefly on her shoulders as he passed. "I need to get out. I need to move."

"Well, you sure are moving quite enough right now, I'd say." She mused with a bit of a frustrated chuckle, crossing her arms and giving a dramatic roll of her eyes. "Come on, Doctor. Sit down."

"No."

A sort of growl bubbled up in her throat, and she reached out to snag at his jacket sleeve the next time he passed. She pulled him in her direction and spun him around to shove him face first into the sofa.

"I can't do this! It's even _worse _than last time." He groaned, rolling over onto his back and looking up at her with mockingly pleading eyes. "Let's go somewhere. Anywhere." He hopped to his feet and raced to the door. "Never mind. You stay, I'll go. You're depressing me with those droopy eyes." He gestured to her face with a frown, then his eyebrows rose almost all the way to his hairline. His gaze flickered to the direction of the nearest window, where a tree stretched up just behind and a squirrel sat perched on a thin branch. The Doctor stomped up to Clara, having to stretch his neck uncomfortably to cast a proper gaze directly into her eyes. His face was nothing but seriousness, accompanied by a bit of danger. His words were the exact opposite. "Whatever you do," His voice lowered a notch. "Do _not _make eye contact."

Clara opened her mouth to question, but he silenced her with a palm to her lips.

"Don't look it in the eye. Stay as _far _away as possible. Do you understand me?"

She solely nodded, smiling with slight amusement. She decided not to spoil his fun by telling him it was, in fact, just a squirrel.

He returned a nod of satisfaction. "Do as you are told." The raced out the door.

With a sigh, Clara turned with a slightly lowered head to lay herself down on the sofa. She pressed her face deep into the cushions, still feeling the faintest scent from the man who'd lain there for mere seconds, mere seconds ago.

"Have fun, Doctor." She whispered, curling up on herself, and soon after drifting into sleep.

* * *

She shouldn't be so mad at herself for drifting off. She needed the welcomed oblivion as much as her natural cycle allowed. Clara's nights were reckless and restless. Nightmares haunted her sleep, constant depressing thoughts clouded her memories, and she was left tired and drained during her day to day life She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually slept well.

But that was beside the point. What mattered was that she'd been asleep for ten hours at least. And the Doctor still hadn't returned.

Her first instinct was to ring the TARDIS, but of course the Doctor was almost unfortunately shipless at the time. He was out there somewhere, alone, trudging through the snow, probably lost and confused. The poor soul was probably half frozen to death by now, looking like a homeless beggar just dying for a mobile to borrow so he could ring Clara to come and pick him up.

She hauled herself to her feet and collected her keys and purse, already starting for the door so she could go out and search for him. But she'd just barely crossed the room when he came bursting inside.

He was missing a shoe and one of his sleeves had been ripped from his jacket, clutched in his hand so tight his knuckles were fading white. His short hair stuck out at awkward angles, and his left eye was puffy and darkened, nearly swollen shut.

"Never..._never,_" He slurred, ambling up to Clara with such a quick stride it received a flinch on her end. "Never make fun of a drunk man's shoes."

She held her hands out slightly, almost expecting to keel over right then and there. His hot breaths on her face absolutely reeked of alcohol, and the rest of him didn't smell too divine either. Clara glanced down at his feet, ran her eyes all over his wrecked form, then frowned at his face. "I'm guessing that you were that drunk man."

"You should see the other guy." He muttered with a jumbled laugh, eyes closing then shooting open again. "Oh, Clara Clara Clara. You should have been there."

"I wholeheartedly disagree." She commented, resting her hands on his shoulders and turning him the opposite direction. "You idiot." She hissed, firmly guiding him to her bedroom. "You know what alcohol does to you. How much did you have?" So much for alone and cold. Intoxicated and stupid, more like it.

"I'm a Time Lord, little Clara." He assured her, twisting around to give her forehead a tap as he stated proudly, "I have a higher tolerance."

"Not high enough, apparently." She spun him back around. "How much?"

"Oh," He waved a hand in front of him with a dismissing expression. "Just one or two."

"Doctor."

"_Maybe _a bit closer to six or seven. Maybe."

"Glasses? Bottles? What did you have?"

"Not sure, really. It was in a bottle, though. Smelled like grapefruit."

"You bloody idiot." She repeated with a disappointed sigh, forcing him on a bit quicker until he was close enough for her to shove him onto her bed.

"I don't need sleep, Clara." He demanded, despite the fact that his eyelids were drooping closed once again. Clara just gave an impeccable shake of her head, already beginning to peel the torn jacket from his body. She ignored his weak resistance, throwing the clothing item aside and prying the sleeve from his grasp. "I don't..." He yawned. "Need to sleep." His face was already relaxing, and Clara mentally urged him to succumb into sleep. He seemed to battle with himself for a minute, she could almost hear him thinking _No, _switching back and forth between that and _Just give in. _Finally, his eyes drooped closed, and he fell unconscious against the mass of pillows.

Clara managed a little laugh, leaning down to slip off his shoes and lift his heavy legs up onto the bed. She took a minute to examine his face, rubbing her thumb tentatively over his reddened cheek and swollen eye, then reached to the base of the bed to pull the duvet up around his shoulders. "Don't get drunk next time." She scolded lightly, voice faltering into a little laugh. She smoothed out his hair, savoring the feeling of the silky curls beneath her fingertips. He'd never allow this if he was awake, she knew. May as well enjoy the contact while she could.

Leaving the Doctor alone, she departed back to the living room and settled herself on the sofa. She was still tired, anyways. Might as well get as much peaceful sleep her subconscious would allow.


	4. I Don't Deserve You

_**December 4th**_

"Oh, that was a mistake." The Doctor very slowly forced himself onto his back, shoulders aching and head throbbing. There was a growing pressure in his temples and directly behind his eyes, the pain finding its way to words as he emitted a little groan. The whole left side of his face seemed to throb and the simple action placing his fingers on his cheek resulted in a wince. "Wow," he muttered, quite astonishingly quietly, and amazed himself at how such a light comment could be accompanied by so much discomfort.

He rolled himself to the side the bed and lowered his feet tentatively to the floor. He sat there on the edge for a minute, hands braced on his knees, head slightly lowered before finally convincing himself to stand.

The Doctor met Clara in the kitchen, who already had fresh tea brewed and ready for consuming on the counter. She smiled a greeting in his direction, handing him the warm mug and seating both him and herself down at the table.

Clara's fingertips drummed against the wood for a few moments of only slightly awkward silence, her gaze fixed on the swirling liquid under her nose. "How'd you sleep?" She asked quietly, doing her best not to disturb the almost visible headache beating away at his skull.

"Don't remember." He replied simply, voice low. He considered the drink in his hand for a moment, then dismissed it with an almost angered shrug and disposed of it in the sink. He returned to the table a moment later with steaming black coffee, making a soft noise of acceptance as he slowly sipped away.

"What happened last night? Where'd you go?"

"Some pub 'round the corner." He muttered. "You Londoners are quite rude late at night."

"Hey, you're the one that was drunk." She noted halfway through a sip of her tea. "What exactly did you get into a fight over?"

"I was drunk..."

"Yes, I got that. So what did you fight over?"

He was hesitant to reply. "Just as I told you, Clara. He made fun of my shoes." He frowned as he saw her lips hitching up in a slight smile, his own face hardening into a scowl as she burst into laughter. "I was drunk! I wasn't thinking straight." He defended sourly.

"Oh, whatever. Even in your right mind you'd attack a guy if he made fun of your eyebrows, let alone your shoes." She giggled. "Admit it."

"Shut up." He hissed back. And somehow, that was the end of the conversation.

The rest of the day was slow and drug out. The Doctor spent most of his time sprawled out lazily on the sofa, oddly much more quieter than his usual rambunctious self. Clara remained on standby, not too eager to venture beyond hearing distance in case he needed anything. But he never asked. Each offer of more coffee or tea was denied, each attempt at a beginning conversation was ignored, each offered assistance during his many vomiting spells were shut down, even Clara's 'wary' questions of that certain squirrel were shunned. Eventually she gave up, but kept herself close.

When she heard him groaning in his sleep, she simply couldn't take it anymore.

"Doctor." She sighed, rocking her chair back and forth until she gained enough momentum to rise to her feet. She lowered herself to her knees beside the couch, hunching over a bit so that her face was level with his. "Oi." She poked his forehead repeatedly. "Wake up, Time Lord."

His eyes shot open and he flew backwards with a gasp, pressing himself against the back of the sofa and flinching like he'd been burned. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Relax." She muttered, rising back to her feet. "Listen, just let me get you an Aspirin or something. It's pitiful seeing you like this."

"I'm fine, Clara." He insisted gruffly, shifting into an awkward half-sitting position. "I'm allergic to Aspirin, anyways."

"What kind of person is allergic to Aspirin?"

"Time Lords."

"Ah."

The Doctor lowered his feet to the floor and propped his elbows on his knees, face in his hands and fingertips rubbing his temples. "This is ridiculous." He mumbled with barely existent coherence. "Its usually not this bad."

"What, you've been hungover before?" She clarified. "_You_?"

"I _am _over two thousand years old, you know. Yes, I've been hungover." He retorted.

"Just don't really seem the sort to overindulge, I suppose." She mused with a lighthearted shrug.

There was that gaping silence again.

"Can I get you anything?" She asked eventually.

"No."

"Can I do _anything _for you?" She prompted.

"Go away, Clara." He sighed and closed his eyes, wincing during the aftermath of the sharp tone. "Sorry."

"You're fine." She whispered lightly, giving his knee a soft pat as she rose to her feet. The Doctor's eyes widened a hair as Clara gripped his wrist, sending his head lulling forward and shooting back up again. "Come on." She demanded.

"Where?" He allowed her to help him to his feet, but each step was reluctant.

"My bedroom." She continued before he could make any type of snarky comment. "Sofa's far too uncomfortable. You can sleep in here again."

"I'm fine on the couch." He yanked his hand free from her grasp, but she snatched it back.

"Never said it was your choice." She shoved him down face-first into the pillows, laughing a bit when he made no attempt to move from there. "Get comfortable." She commanded, her tone demanding yet gentle in a way. She gave a satisfactory nod as he rolled up his sleeves and brought his legs onto the bed with him, but argued as soon as Clara began pulling the duvet up to his shoulders.

"You know, this was much simpler when you were drunk." She noted, settling for pinning his weak hands down and shoving the blanket up around him despite the many protests.

"You don't need to do this." He whispered, his tone not as frustrated as Clara would have assumed. More, _concerned, _she decided to put it.

"I know that." She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed her fingers over his cheek. "Doesn't mean that I'm not gonna do it." She was surprised when he didn't flinch. In fact, he made zero attempts to even remove her hand from where it was now stroking the side of his face. Instead, his eyes just fluttered closed, and he leaned into the touch.

Clara blamed the alcohol for what he said next. "I don't deserve a friend like you." There it was. The exact words she'd spoken to him just months before. She couldn't hold back a smile as she leaned close to his ear, and whispered wholeheartedly,

"Doctor, I'm sorry, but I'm exactly what you deserve."


	5. It Wasn't The Squirrel

_**December 5th**_

It was the sound of a door slamming shut that finally woke the Doctor up. He twined his fingers into the bedsheets and sat straight up, the speedy momentum sending him shooting forward and landing at the base of the bed face first. He rolled off with a somehow bilingual curse under his breath, and sort of stumbled out the bedroom door and into the main room.

He spun a full circle, eyes wide and movements frantic. "Clara!" He shouted, darting from the kitchen, then back, to the bathroom, then back, down the hall and then back again. No sight of her. "Clara?"

The Doctor was beginning to panic. Actually, properly, _panic. _Where had she gone? Where could she possibly be? Was she in trouble? Was she in danger? Was she abducted? Forced to leave with a gun held to her head, and a threat to snap that pretty little neck if she even dared to call out?

They were all very logical assumptions, he concluded. Anything could have happened.

Should he go out looking for her? Should he stay and wait? No, you idiot, he mentally scolded himself. He couldn't just sit around and do nothing, when Clara's _life _could be on the line!

"If this was you..." He mumbled harshly, storming up to the window and leaning his forehead onto the glass. There sat that squirrel...that _damned _squirrel. "If you and your deceivingly bushy tail have anything to do with this, it will be the end of you. Do you understand me!?"

At the loud tone, the innocent animal scurried off, leaving the Doctor smirking proudly at his ability to scare away such a threat.

He'd heard the door shut approximately one minute and forty-seven ago, which meant Clara's captor couldn't have gotten far. He headed straight for the door, but his movement ceased just before his hand could grasp the handle. Why risk going after her now, and possibly find himself going the opposite direction, when he could just get the TARDIS to do the work for him? The ship had full medical files on the woman, so it could easily track her down by detecting the familiar life signs.

With a final decisive nod he turned heel, and raced back into the bedroom.

* * *

A very much heavy shopping basket was already filled with various items as Clara worked her way through the aisles of Sainsbury's Local. Her right arm already ached with the weight of the items packed inside the carrier, but she was no where near done. With a sigh and a role of her sore shoulder, she pressed on.

"Clara!"

It was about time.

"Clara! Clara, are you all right?" The Doctor came dashing up, shoe soles leaving skid marks on the white tile flooring as he slid directly past her, then ran back to her side again. "I heard the door shut, and then I couldn't find you. Who was it? Who took you? You can tell me, its all right. I won't let anyone hurt you."

There it was. Another one of those rambling moments that she just loved about him, where his previous self just couldn't resist bleeding through. "Took you long enough." She said coolly, using both hands to pass the the plastic basket into his grasp. "Come on." She beckoned, already walking back down the aisle. "It wasn't the squirrel, by the way."

"Hang on, what?" His eyebrows shot all the way up to his hairline as he stomped after her. "What are you doing?"

"So sweet of you to offer the help." She said kindly, fluttering her eyelashes and giving his chest a thankful pat. "Go fetch some eggs for me, will you?"

"Clara, I thought you were in danger!" He whined.

"Times like this that I actually don't mind your stubborn, overprotective idioticness." She joked lightly. "I knew you'd come after me, worryin' and all. It was the only way to get you to help." She explained with a smirk.

"That was cruel." He hissed.

"Honestly, if I had said, 'Hey, Doctor, want to come shopping with me?' would you have come along?"

"Hell no."

"My point exactly."


	6. Sandwich Sentimentals

_**December 6th**_

The boredom was back, and forever tormenting.

Saturday, December sixth was quite the usual, uninteresting day. The Doctor managed most of his time back in the TARDIS, programming this, replacing that, doing anything to busy himself, even though he knew for a fact the actions were useless. Still, he'd managed a few improvements. He enhanced the quality in the monitor by 32%, he fixed a broken link in the telepathic circuit, he even washed the bloody windows.

Yet he still couldn't manage to get his _ship _to _fly. _

The Doctor sighed and fell back into the jump seat. He'd avoided loitering back in the flat as much as he could that day, coming up with excuses to remain inside his little safe place, even when he was very much quite _extraordinarily _unentertained with its dysfunctional contents.

Just as he'd told Clara before, all corridors were sealed off, leaving the console room his only room for escape.

And unfortunately, the console room didn't have a kitchen.

And in that moment, his stomach needed immediate attention.

With a roll of his eyes only gesturing half-reluctance, the Doctor made his way back out the doors, through the bedroom, and greeted Clara in the kitchen.

"Hey, you." She gave him a lopsided smile. "Figure out the TARDIS yet?"

"She's not exactly cooperating." He mumbled frustratedly, rummaging through fridge. "Where's the damn cheese?"

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the console." Clara chuckled, leaning up against the counter and sipping at her tea. "Bottom drawer. Left." She explained patiently.

His only reply was a grunting sort of thanks as he found the item he was searching for.

Clara watched in amusement for several minutes as he went from one cupboard to the other, back and forth between the fridge and the freezer, thick brow lowering in agitation. Finally, she took a step forward. "Go sit down. I'll do it." She laid her hand on his briefly as she took the random items from his grasp, returned them to their proper stations and removing what could _actually _be used in a sandwich.

"I can do it, Clara." He argued, but she just shot him a silencing look. With a sigh of submission, the Doctor sat himself down.

"Did you even sleep at all last night?" She asked with genuine curiosity, preparing the sandwich the way she knew he liked it. Or at least the way he liked it in his last regeneration. Basic ham and cheese, mayo on the top half, not the bottom, and the crust cut off like she would do for a picky child.

"I told you. I don't sleep. Don't you humans ever listen?" He scoffed, hands twitching where he had them clasped atop the table.

"I know for a fact you sleep sometimes." She tilted her head with a knowing glare. "For example, two nights ago when you were drunk out of your wits."

"_Exactly. _I was _drunk. _I had an excuse to sleep, thank you very much." He frowned, but his lips quirked up in a slight smile when the sandwich was placed in front of him. But still, he made sure to hide it.

Clara's expression of warmth did nothing for him. Or so it appeared. "What is it?" He asked, noting the way Clara's gaze was fixed on his meal in an almost longing matter. "Er...if you want it you can have it-"

"-No." She shook her head with a laugh. "Just, remembering how you always used to love your sandwich, is all." She chimed. "Nothing's changed."

"Clara Oswald, don't tell me you're getting sentimental over a lump of bread." He frowned, but didn't attempt to hold back the little hum of satisfaction as he took his first bite.

"Nothing's changed." She repeated with a little nod, ruffling his hair as she past, and inwardly smiling when he didn't even attempt to flinch.

The Doctor scarfed down his meal and finally accepted a cup of tea, even managing a small mutter of thanks upon doing so. He planned to head back to the TARDIS, to escape a tense conversation or a few awkward half-stares, but whether he'd made a mistake or the ship was just having a bit of fun, it resulted in his desires crumbling.

"Oh, come on! Don't do this!" He gripped the door handles with already aching fingers and gave a few yanks, scowling up at the top of the box when it emitted a soft hum. "Let me in, you old cow."

"Oi, that's my name for her." Clara argued, following him into her bedroom. "What's going on?"

"The grumpy hag locked me out!" He shouted angrily, banging his fists against the wood. He muttered something afterwards that Clara thought might have been a sort of apology. She didn't blame him. She could practically feel the machine's 'stares'.

"Why would she do that?" She questioned, crossing her arms and looking up at the dully lit bulb.

"Another glitch, I suppose." The Doctor decided outwardly, but didn't even believe his own words. Something else was going on with the ship, but he had no way of finding out what. Especially set apart from the console room. He gripped his hair with one hand and slammed his boot sole against the floor. "Dammit!"

"Well, Doctor." Clara grinned and put a hand on his shoulder. "Look's like you're on the couch tonight."

* * *

"Clara, how many times do I have to tell you that I don't sleep?"

"As many times as it takes to convince me. Which is a lot, because you're not doing a pretty fine job right now." Clara rolled her eyes. "Just sit down."

"I don't take orders."

"Fine, you want to stand there all night, be my guest. But you're not leaving, and you can't get in the TARDIS, so this is your only option." She crossed her arms and nodded towards the sofa. "Sit."

"Clara-"

"_Sit!_"

The Doctor groaned like a small child and collapsed sideways, landing with a rebellious expression into the plush cushions. He sat up with a frown and shot Clara a defiant glare, but didn't speak up.

"Thank you." She gave an exaggerated sigh, taking the Doctor by surprise by draping a thick duvet across his legs and patting his shoulder.

"You don't have to do this, you know." He said quietly, unsure of her or himself. "I can find somewhere else."

"Why go somewhere else when I'm letting you stay here?" She questioned, eyes narrowed. "I really don't mind."

"But...why don't you mind?" He shot her a quizzical, almost hurt look. _I didn't think you wanted anything to do with me anymore. _

Her reply was simple, short, but filled with so much meaning. "Missed you a little bit." And with that, she walked off.

The Doctor stared in her direction, gaze fixed on a random spot on the back of her head as he contemplated whether or not to speak out. There was still a question nagging in the back of his mind that he'd been previously too hesitant to ask. But it was important, he decided. It was necessary because...he needed to know.

"Clara?" He called just before she turned the corner to her bedroom. She spun around, eyebrows raised and tone friendly.

"Yes?"

And so he finally asked. "Where's Danny?"

The look on her face was so recognizable, yet completely unreadable. He studied every inch of her face, from the slight furrow to her brow, to her drooping eyelids, to her twisted lips. Her eyes fluttered closed completely, and she gave an impeccable shake of her head before walking off.


	7. The Veil

_**December 7th**_

He made no attempts to flee to the TARDIS this time.

Instead, the Doctor found himself watching Clara closer than ever before. Paying attention to every little movement, taking note of everything he'd completely dismiss on a normal day. He watched her expressions down to the very detail. He watched the way she walked. Increasingly intently listened to the way she talked. He looked inside her. He could see so much just through those dark brown eyes, and they were beginning to betray so much.

_So _very much. There were so many emotions raging inside her. It was like a chemical war with a seemingly never ending battle. It was far too obvious. He didn't even need to ask if she was okay since he knew for a fact that... she very much wasn't.

Those eyes. So droopy and low. Her voice, always so quiet, so timid, as if she were too afraid to speak aloud. Her steps, so unusually slow. The fact that she had only left the once _once! _Just once, in an entire week. Clara Oswald, the socially at ease, easy-going, friendly, energetic, pack leading sort of woman. The woman who could brighten up a child's day with just her smile. The woman that could brighten up _his _day with just her smile.

And that woman, that previously so lively woman, was dead inside.

And not only was he ignorant enough to not see it sooner,

He was ignorant enough to just now realize that it was all his fault.

* * *

She didn't want to tell him. She still couldn't bring herself to tell him. Part of her kept telling her that maybe she _should_ tell him, but how could she? It wasn't exactly an easy topic to bring up, not matter how much she felt like she needed to let it all out.

Clara had done a pretty good job at keeping her emotions in tact in the past week, she thought. She'd put on a smile, she'd gone about her day, she'd even managed to refrain from crying. Maybe the Doctor just had that effect on her, she thought. Maybe it was because of him that it had been fairly easy to keep her feelings at bay.

She'd surprised herself, even. The weeks prior had been slow and dragging. The school was closed due to weather, and now the children would be going on holiday soon, so she hadn't had much to occupy her time. She'd rejected any social invites from even the closest friends, prohibited any family visiting, and just left herself alone to sulk. She was constantly angry with her self in the midst, of course. She's had months to heal. Months to mourn. She'd gotten a bit better, there towards the end. The very slow progression of her stages of grief had been finally drawing to a close. But the aftermath was no better.

Maybe she wasn't any better, after all. Maybe this was just her final stage of the struggle. Her attempts to _finally _accept the death of Danny, and the departure of her best friend.

But so far, the acceptance was refusing to successfully come.

* * *

The sky outside the window was blackened. The sound of rain in the background added to the burdened nature of the stressful auro. The emotional atmosphere was a ringing silence tension. An almost visible elephant in the room. An unasked question, that very much needed to be asked.

The Doctor cared for Clara. It was no secret, it was nothing he'd ever tried to hide, yet demonstrating that care could be an even more difficult chore than taking on an entire Dalek fleet singlehandedly.

He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to say _something. _He wanted to apologize for leaving her alone. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that he hadn't talked to her sooner. He wanted her to know that he still cared. That he could still be consulted in her time of need.

As much progress as they've made, he still wasn't the same man he used to be. And Clara knew that. This lined face of his must frequently seemed stubborn and hardened, like he had a big wall in his mind that wouldn't allow anyone to breach. Not even Clara.

But oh, how wrong that was.

It wasn't until she had just departed her bedroom that he finally gathered up the sense to go after her. Clara's head had hung lower than normal that day. She knew that he knew, or was at least suspecting.

It was now or never, the Doctor decided. And with that, he stepped into her bedroom.

"Clara?" His knuckles wrapped lightly on the door a couple times before he earned a softly spoken permission to enter. He stepped in slowly, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the floor.

Clara looked up from her work of fixing the blankets atop her bed, and smiled in his direction. But the Doctor no longer ignored the obvious fake upward hitching of her lips. He was finally seeing through her. Seeing _into _her. That veil blocking her emotions was slowly beginning to lower.

"Need something?" She asked, seating herself on the edge of the bed.

"No." He replied, removing his hands from his pockets to cross his arms over his chest. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, lowered his hands back to his sides, then settled for rubbing the back of his neck. "But, er, we need to talk."

The nod she gave was full of understanding, and the sadness in her eyes seemed to shine through more than ever. "Alright." She pat the bed at her side, beckoning him with an encouraging lopsided smile.

He wasted no more time after that, letting the words finally spill out as he lowered himself to her side. "What happened to Danny?"

Her expression never changed. "I get the feeling you've already worked that out yourself."

"He didn't come back, did he?" The Doctor's voice was soft and lowered, allowing his rebellious sympathy to be revealed.

Clara blinked a couple times. The Doctor thought she might be trying to hold back tears, but her eyes never watered. "No. He didn't."

"What happened?"

She replied with nothing more than a shake of her head, and the half closing of her eyelids.

"Talk to me." His voice came out more pleading than he would have liked. "I may be old and grumpy, but I've not changed as much as you thought." He looked away, but only briefly. "You can still talk to me, Clara."

She shook her head again. "There's nothing to talk about." She pressed her lips into a firm line and shrugged. "He just didn't make it back."

"But what happened?" He prompted. "Why?"

Clara just smiled again and slid beneath the covers. "That's a story for another time."

"Clara-" He protested.

She just lowered her head onto the pillow and turned off her lamp. "Go to bed, Doctor."

It took a few moments of standing and staring before the Doctor finally convinced himself to walk away. Head lowered in submission, hands clenched into fists, he left her presence. He understood, he supposed. And he couldn't really blame her for wanting some time.

Because finally, after so many months of failed acceptance and shields that blocked all her emotion from the outside world...

The veil was been lowered.


	8. Change

_**December 8th**_

The Doctor had sat just outside Clara's bedroom for the majority of the night. He didn't sleep, didn't eat, just sat with his back pressed against the wall with his head slightly cocked sideways. His knees were pulled to his chest and his hands hung limply atop, eyelids half lowered. He wasn't tired, really. Just feeling a bit drained. Something about the distressful and worrying conversation the night before just left him feeling... different.

It was something like a mixture between anger and sadness. Anger at himself, of course, for countless things. But that wasn't new. And then his despairing _sadness _for a close friend, who he could have been helping all this time. But no. He'd been his usual thick self, and left her alone to mourn and suffer.

He hadn't been there for her.

But that was about to change.

* * *

Clara's progression into wakefulness was slow and challenging. Just when she'd begin to open her eyes, it was as if someone was dragging her back down oblivion. She slept for much longer than normal, no longer finding the _energy _to really wake up. _What's the point? _Voices began to say. _Sleep is so much more peaceful. _They went on. _So much easier. _But the voice in her head was her own.

Finally, she forced herself awake. She wasn't really sure, really. The voices had a point. Why should she get out of bed, and face yet another day of empty depression, when she could just sleep the pain away?

The only thought that finally urged her to stand up was, _The Doctor will be getting hungry. _And with a little shadow of a laugh, she exited her room.

Clara's scream bounced off the walls of the small flat space, causing the Doctor to shout out in fright and press his palms to his ears. He flew to his feet from his strangest position seated outside her door, then raised his eyebrows with an incredulous stare in her direction.

"What the hell was that for?!" He demanded, lowering his hands.

Clara stood slightly hunched over with her hand to her heart and her breaths rapid. "You scared me half to death!"

"What did I do?!"

"I wasn't exactly expecting to see you on the floor right when I woke up, you know!" She straightened herself a bit and looked up at him with still wide eyes. "What were you even doing down there?"

He didn't reply.

A small smile flickered across her face, and she crossed her arms. "Doctor, are you guarding me?"

The same smile clouded his aggravated features. That smile filled with recognition, remembrance, and a hint of sadness. "Why, yes." He gave a firm nod. "Yes I am."

Clara lowered her head and looked to the side, burrowing her hands deep in the pockets of her dressing gown. She walked right past him without another word in that moment, and headed straight for the kitchen cupboards.

"Eggs this morning?" She questioned over her shoulder.

"I'm fine."

Clara gave a little nod in reply, preparing her usual cup of Earl Grey, and turning around to see the Doctor seated at the kitchen table. "You sure you're not hungry?" She asked with a quirked eyebrow.

He nodded. "Its not that, Clara."

"Well then, what is it?" She asked slowly, body itching to sit down at his side but her brain saying otherwise. "What's going on?"

He gave a little laugh at that. "What do you _think_?" He hesitated. "We need to talk."

The two stared at each other in awkward silence once Clara had convinced herself to take the seat across from him. There she sat, elbow braced on the table, tea raised to her lips, and the Doctor on the opposite side in the same position, trying hard to enjoy his coffee in the thick moment.

"You haven't told me everything." He finally announced, voice low. "And I need to know."

She gave an unbelieving shake of her head. "You know, Doctor, you really don't."

"But I do, Clara! How do you expect me to help you if you won't even tell me what's going on?"

"I told you everything you need to know." She looked away. "But honestly, since when do you care so much anyway?"

She expected some cheesy cover up line like, _I've always cared, _or, _How could you say that_? She knew that he'd do anything, say anything to save himself from a binding moment. And this was no different.

"Since yesterday." Was all he said.

And _that _took her by surprise, and angered her slightly despite her assumptions. "Excuse me?"

"Clara," He began hesitantly. "Clara, you know I've always cared about you. When Danny died, I was worried about you and what lengths you would go to to get him back. I cared. I was concerned, for you and the fate of the world at your possible actions, to be quite honest." He admitted. "But this daft old man has never really paid attention to what you feel. Your emotions." He looked down at his coffee, swirling the liquid around in his cup. "And I should."

"Why the change of heart?" She asked after a few moments of stunned silence.

"Oh, many reasons." He smiled sadly, shoving his distasteful beverage aside. "But enough of that." He leaned forward, gaze practically digging into hers. "Clara, tell me what's happened."

The sigh she emitted was an action of defeat and acceptance, but her eyes showed her reluctance. She looked down at her hand and began twirling Danny's bracelet around on her wrist, lost in thought.

"Look at me."

She made no attempt to move.

"Clara, _look _at me."

She drew her eyes up to his face, ready to wipe away tears that she felt inevitable, but they never came. Oh, the feeling was there. The burning pressure behind her eyes, the aching in her throat and chest. But she never cried.

"Now _talk._" His voice came out gruff, controlling, a bit of his normal self showing through. But his eyes still betrayed everything.

Finally, words spilling out all at once, Clara erupted into the full story. She told him of everything that occurred that night, from Danny's presence, to his refusal to come through, and finally ending on his action of sending the boy through in his place.

"He looked so scared." She sighed out. "Didn't know where he was, what was happening. Took a while to even get him to come near me. But he still never talked."

The Doctor nodded slightly, urging her on. "Where is he now?"

The Doctor thought it had all been about Danny. Thought that it was nothing but Danny's death and his own departure combined that had sent Clara over the edge. But apparently, it was so much more.

She shook her head and bit her lip, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" He furrowed his brow.

"I mean I don't know!" She snapped loudly, slamming her fist on the table. After a tense moment, her features relaxed. "He..." Her voice cracked. No, she told herself. She wasn't going to cry.

"Go on." The Doctor whispered.

"They never found his parents." She muttered, eyes closed and forehead resting in her palm. 'Turns out they died in the crossfire as well."

He remained silent, knowing where the conversation was heading, and unsure what to say.

"I didn't want him to end up in a children's home." She screwed up her face in disgust. I _really _didn't. So I started looking for a family to adopt him. And in the meantime, he was allowed to stay with me.

"He lived here for just perhaps a month. He didn't speak English, so we never really spoke. But he was the sweetest, friendliest child I've ever known." She let out a shuddering sigh. "We got on quite good. I even considered adopting him myself, actually, but." She broke off. "I woke up, just days before you came, and he was gone."

"He ran away?"

She nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

"Are the police looking?"

"Of course they are."

"But they haven't found him?"

"No, Doctor. They haven't."

The Doctor watched with clouded eyes as she stood up, turned her back, and made to walk away. But before she could take a single step, he snagged her wrist, and finally asked what he already knew, but needed to be confirmed.

"Are you okay?"

Clara snatched her hand from his grasp, and departed to her bedroom. "No."


	9. A Boundary Finally Pierced

_**December 9th**_

They both had rules. They both had boundaries. But they both desperately needed to break those rules, and penetrate those boundaries.

Clara was at the peak of her grieving. She was so close, she felt. She _almost _felt better, but something was holding her back. Maybe she just needed to cry it all out. She'd kept herself from doing it for a good while, now. Made it a personal rule even, that she was determined not to break. But maybe it was time.

But she couldn't. She couldn't cry. She wanted to, she felt like she needed to, but the pressure and tightness behind her eyes and in her chest just seemed to become enhanced when she tried to allow her tears to flow.

She also felt a somewhat desperate need for simply... contact. Maybe all she needed was a good hug. Someone to tell her it was all going to be okay, someone to be there for her, someone to truly devote a bit of their time to just caring for her. But she had no one like that. Her family never came around anymore, she'd distanced herself from her friends long ago, so all she had left was the Doctor.

She knew he cared for her. She really did. But it didn't change the fact that he wasn't the man he used to be. He couldn't be the person she needed. Not anymore.

Clara sighed and buried herself deeper into the covers, pressing her head deep into the pillow. It was early, only eight o'clock or so, but she was already feeling so exhausted and drained. So why not go to bed? She didn't really have any reason for being up and about, anyway. Well, unless the Doctor got hungry... yet again. That man. She groaned at the simple thought of him. But not with distaste as much as a reluctant amusement. She didn't mind him sticking around as much as she thought she would have.

She was finally beginning to drift into very much welcomed oblivion when she heard her bedroom door creak open. She narrowly opened her eyes, squinting in the darkness at the small amount of light peering through the small opening. There she was met with the one icy blue eye and hardened brow that she could see through the crack.

With a little groan, she pulled the covers from her body and swung her legs off the bed. "Tomorrow, I'm teaching you how to make a damn sandwich." She mumbled in the midst of a yawn.

"No. Stay in bed, its okay." The Doctor stated quickly, opening the door wide enough so that he could slightly step through. When he shut it behind him, Clara began to eye him warily.

"What do you need, then?" She kept her voice low, not sure why her heart was racing as fast as it was.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Stuck his hands in his pockets, then pulled them back out. He scratched lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck, then brought his gaze to the floor.

"Go on, then."

"I need you to talk to me, Clara." He finally admitted.

"Isn't that what we're doing?" Her light attempt at humor fell flat. She knew where this was going, and she wanted it to stop.

The Doctor seated himself on the edge of the bed, as close to the foot as he could get without sliding off. He looked to his left, sad eyes boring into Clara's.

She just wanted it to stop.

"There's nothing else to talk about." She said halfheartedly, drawing her gaze away. But still, she managed to meet his gaze, and inch a bit closer to his side. "You can stop worrying about me. You _need _to stop worrying about me. I'm fine."

"Just yesterday you said that you weren't." He protested, then gestured to her face. "But those eyes of yours tell the story enough." He scoffed.

She shook her head. "I just need time."

"You've had time."

"Then I need more time."

"Clara-"

"No, Doctor. Please, just let this go." Her voice was pleading, but just as he'd said, her eyes told the story much better. She noticed that her voice cracked amidst her words, and choked back a sob rising in her throat. Why her emotions were choosing this time to finally succumb, she didn't know. But she wasn't prepared to let it happen; especially not in front of the Doctor. So with a shuddering sigh she straightened herself, blinked, swallowed hard, and turned her pained gaze into nothing but defiance.

"You haven't cried." It was more of a statement of clarification than a question. "Why?"

"Because I'm not that weak anymore, Doctor." She hissed. "I'm grown up since you last saw me. You've been gone a long while. You have your rules, I have mine."

"Ah, but there's a flaw, you see?" He smirked, then poked the center of her forehead, tilting his head slightly. "I know you." When she made no indication that she intended to reply, he continued on. "And I _know _that its about time you broke that ridiculous rule of yours."

Her gaze gradually softened over the course of the next few silent minutes. She ran a hand through her hair, played around with Danny's bracelet and her mum's ring, then finally brought her glassy eyes to his. "I'll break my rule if you break yours." The words were barely audible, obviously reluctant and pained.

But very much needed.

All she needed was the slight nod he gave in reply before she twisted her body in his direction and leaned right into his embrace. His hands didn't know what to do at first, sticking out awkwardly to his sides, but apparently he still had a bit of muscle memory from Bow Tie's regeneration. Because the next thing he knew, he was holding her tight.

Clara responded immediately, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and pressing her face against his shoulder. Alas, tears began to fall. Her face felt parched in a way, so _aching _for the warm feeling of painful tears. And once they began, they refused to stop.

She found herself sobbing roughly, chest heaving and shoulders shaking with every sharp inhalation. She twined her fingers into the smooth fabric of his jacket, gripping the material tight and holding on like a lifeline.

The Doctor chuckled slightly, pressing his cheek against her hair. "Never trust a hug." He muttered under his breath, seeing his own vision cloud and feeling the red rimmed outline.

"So much for... hiding my face." She choked out, slight smile on her face. She lifted her head and pulled back slightly to catch sight of his expression, feeling like crying even harder when she saw the tear begin to slide down his own face. She lifted her hand to his cheek and wiped the wetness away with her thumb, giving him a quizzical look. "Why're you crying?"

"I'm not." He defended, sniffing loudly. "What are you talking about?"

Clara didn't say anything else, just smiled brightly and emitted a half laugh, half sob, and fell against him again. Her hand slid up to press against his chest, feeling the wild, fast beat pounding beneath her fingertips. She pressed her forehead against him, then just held him tightly again. She never wanted to let go.

They sat there for seconds, minutes, hours, the Doctor didn't know. But soon Clara's crying subsided, and she fell limp against him. With a furrowed brow he tilted her head back to catch sight of her closed eyelids, tear stained cheeks, relaxed features, and hear her slowed breathing.

He laughed quietly, pulling her back to him and resting the back of her head in his palm. With slow, careful movements, he gently maneuvered her back into bed and tucked the duvet comfortingly around her.

He straightened himself, took a small step back and ran a hand through his hair. "I know you." He whispered with grin, brushed his fingers against the top of her hand, and walked away.


	10. Getting Better

_**December 10th**_

She was better. There was no denying it.

Throughout the day she was almost as cheerful and smile-filled as he'd ever seen. She ran about the flat as opposed to the slow, ambling steps she'd taken mere days before, her movements were energetic and excited, not depressed and reluctant as they'd been, and her eyes. The most noticeable features on her entire being. They shined. Lit up so bright the Doctor was nearly blinded by her emotional atmosphere alone.

Clara Oswald

Was nearly healed.

"Oi, I was drinkin' that." Clara frowned, reaching out for the drink as it was snatched from her hand.

"Not anymore!" The Doctor chimed in a singsong voice, raising his eyebrows as he took a sip from the fizzy drink. Clara stood up and threw herself in his direction, hand extended, but he just twisted away.

"Doctor!" She laughed out, trying to keep her stare firm and her scold realistic and she reached around him. "Give it back!"

"But its the last one!" He mockingly complained, turning his back. "Go get your own."

"You just said it was the last one!"

"Oh yeah." He grinned and took another sip. "Sorry. Not really, actually."

"Well then you can drive to the store and get a whole new bloody box of Pepsi." Clara crossed her arms, throwing her head back and stomping her feet. "Come _on_!" While he was in the midst of downing the rest, she launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around him from behind. The Doctor just chuckled and raised his hand above his head, eyes squeezed shut with laughter as Clara hopped up and down in desperate attempts to reach. "Dammit, Doctor!" She pouted, stepping back and crossing her arms. She looked away with an indignant stare from the corner of her eye as if she were a child.

"Oh, grow up a little." But when he went for another sip, Clara seized the moment.

"Hey!" He shouted as the can was knocked from his hand, flying right into his shoulder and exploding its contents all over his jacket and face. "Clara!" He wiped his eyes with one sleeve and shook his hands out, sending soda droplets flying forward into Clara's face.

"Oi! Stop that!" She turned away and raised one shoulder to shield herself.

"Oh, Clara." He announced from just inches behind, arms extended. His shirt and sleeves were drenched, and droplets continued to fall from his soaked hair. "Come here."

"Oh, no you don't! You stay far away!" Clara shouted, eyes wide, back pedaling with as much speed as she could manage without falling over. "Far far away."

"But I just want a hug!"

"You never want a hug! Don't you dare... don't you _dare!_!" She spun around and ran into the kitchen, palms pressed against the back of her head and elbows tucked in close. She ran straight into the counter and found herself cornered.

"Claaaaaraaaaaa." He sang, ambling forward with tantalizingly slow steps.

"No!" She squealed, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut, leaning forward against the counter. "Doctor, no!"

"Clara, yes!" He chuckled sinisterly and threw his arms tight around her from behind, gripping her wrists to keep her from running off.

"You bloody idiot!" She laughed and squirmed around, bunching her hands into fists and lightly kicking out as she was lifted off the ground. "No!" She twisted around and knocked her head backwards against his chest. "Put me down!"

He spun her around a few times before releasing her onto the couch, backing up immediately with hands raised.

Clara groaned and hauled herself up, extending, her arms slightly extended to her side as she frowned at herself in disgust. "I'm so gonna kill you."

The Doctor waved his hands in the air with an expression of mocking fright. "Oh, are you now?"

"But lucky for you," She began, shaking herself off and toeing off her shoes. "I need a shower first."

"What if _I _want to get a shower first?" He challenged.

Clara shot him a look, waggling a finger in his direction. "Not doing that again. My house, my rules."

"Ah, but, in case you haven't noticed," He swept his arms across, gesturing to the small space. "This is a flat."

"Don't try me, Time Lord!" She hissed, backing away, keeping her eyes fixed on him until he was no longer in sight.

The Doctor lowered his head and laughed a bit, smiling inwardly as he shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. All it took was a few seconds with the sonic aimed in his own direction until his clothing immediately dried and refreshed, and he pulled them back on.

He ruffled his hair as he plopped down onto the sofa, kicking back and relaxing with a content sigh. He tilted his head in the hallway direction, hearing the sound of the shower starting and a surprised howl from Clara, muttering something about a faulty shower head soon after.

It was astonishing how far she'd come in a mere day. Only yesterday was she still sad, pained, and utterly alone. She still had a bit of work to do, of course. After all, the boy was still out there, and neither of them knew his whereabouts. The Doctor meant to question her on that, actually. He didn't want to diminish any good in-the-moment feelings, but he was curious at how she'd had such a quick turn around, when in fact, things still weren't that bright.

But that was a conversation for another day. In that moment, all the Doctor cared about was that smile of hers that he had missed for a long, long time.

Things were looking up.


	11. Officially Domestic

_**December 11th**_

"I'll tell you what, though." Clara shot up from her place on the sofa at the Doctor's side, spinning around on her toes to face him with her hands on her hips. "Been cooped up in here all week."

"That we have." The Doctor muttered with a quizzical glare in her direction. "And?"

"_And _what do you say we pop out for a bit?"

"And go where?"

"I dunno! I can't come up with all the solutions here!"

"Okay, okay." He raised his hands slightly in surrender, but kept his eyes trained on hers warily. "Oi, I'm not doing domestics, though. Just keep that in your little human mind-" He broke off as Clara double over, bursting with laughter. "What?" He questioned loudly, raising his voice over her cracking tone. "What?! Stop it!"

"You say you don't want to be domestic." Her laugh tapered off into a sort of chuckle, and she bit her lip until it had almost fully diminished. "But look at you." She gestured with her hand to his _very _much domestic being. His usual black slacks were wrinkled and bunched up at the ankles, his jacket had been lazily removed, one of his shirt sleeves were rolled up, and two buttons were undone to reveal the top of his chest. To top it all off, he had a coffee stain on his collar.

"Its not my fault!" He protested with raised eyebrows. "The TARDIS locked me out, remember? I can't get fresh clothes."

Clara considered for a moment, one hand on her hip, the other tapping her temple in thought. "Well, then." She straightened with a light smirk. "Look's like we gotta get you some new clothes, then."

* * *

"I can _not _believe I let you drag me here."

"Oh, perk up, will you? It's not all bad."

"It sort of is, actually."

"Well then suck it up and act like a mature adult."

Silence.

"Or... as close as you can get to it. Don't strain yourself, though."

The Doctor dragged along several paces behind Clara as she strode confidently through the store, Converse-clad feet dully clacking against the tiled floor and car keys jangling in her pocket. She stuck her thumbs in her belt loops on either side of her jeans and splayed her fingers outward, turning around to face the Doctor and continuing her steps backwards. "Come _on._" She rolled her eyes and tilted her head sideways, slowing her pace until they were aligned again. She bumped lightly against his side and looked him over, chuckling. "Well, I can see the vanity issues have been resolved." She was pretty sure she saw his cheeks redden ever so slightly as he took in full sight of himself, but the coloring disappeared just as quickly.

"Let's just get this over with." He huffed, sticking his hands subconsciously in his ruffled pockets and slightly increasing his pace.

They went from section to section, isle to isle, all over the store in desperate attempt for something that _may _go along the lines of _sort of _pleasing him. Clara tried to sway him towards something a bit more casual that an all out suit, but he'd hear none of it.

"I'm not letting you change my preference in clothing." He scowled. "Let's just find something and get the hell out of here."

"Fine, then." She muttered, leading him to the store's largest selection. "Pick one."

"There's none with the red on the inside!" He whined, examining every inch of each suit. "Let's go somewhere else."

"Doctor, I'm not driving all round town just because you're too picky to settle on just one jacket. If you're in a such a hurry, pick one out or I'll do it for you."

"No way. I don't trust your fashion sense." He gestured to her, furrowing his brow. "I mean, look at you."

"So much for the vanity issues being resolved." Clara mumbled under her breath, and picked out a random suit jacket from the rack. Black button up with grey lining. That wasn't so bad, was it?

So much for that.

"No, no, and how about no!" The Doctor hissed, counting off on his fingers the obnoxiously long list of flaws in the clothing item. After the process repeated until they'd gone through every jacket presented, Clara gave up.

"Fine, then. Keep that old damn jacket of yours." She rolled her eyes dramatically and stomped off, the Doctor trailing behind a little slower.

"Wait." He called out reluctantly, eyes fixed on the floor and hands bunched into fists before he retreated back to the section. "This one's sort of, slightly not horrible." He muttered. "_Slightly._"

Clara just laughed and retrieved the black button up with wide pockets and silver lining on the inside, draped it over her arm, and headed back to the front of the store.

No matter how much he might never admit it, whether or not he'd take the secret to the grave, all attempts at arguing were futile.

Because the Doctor was going domestic, and there was nothing he could do about it.


	12. Buy Me a Drink First

_**December 12th**_

He was still watching the bloody squirrel.

All day long the Doctor sat in the same spot. Funny, he complained so often about not being able to move or be active enough in Clara's tiny flat space, yet he'd been seated in the same chair for hours now, gaze fixed intently on that same damn squirrel. Clara was a bit impressed on the squirrel's end, too. She'd hardly even seen it blink. It stayed glued to its branch, gnawing on its same little half-chewed acorn, watching the Doctor with wide, innocent eyes.

"Alright, Doctor." Clara sighed walking up behind him and gripped the shoulder fabric of his white button-up shirt, shaking his body slightly. "As entertaining as this is, time for you and Mortimer to take a bit of a break."

"I don't trust him." He hissed, but then tilted his head to look up at Clara with a quirked eyebrow. "Mortimer?" He asked halfway through a confused chuckle.

"Better than callin' 'im, 'That Squirrel' don't you think?" She pointed out, tugging on his arm again. "Come on. You've been sitting there all day."

"Not much else to do." He complained, shooting the squirrel one last warning glare as it finally scurried away. He allowed Clara to haul him to his feet and tug him away, but let out several annoyed protests as she did.

They both seated themselves on the sofa, shoulders dangerously close to touching, but neither making any attempt to move. They relaxed back, stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.

"How do you do this?"

"For the millionth time, Doctor, I'm human. We do ridiculous human things like sit around and take a breath sometimes."

"But how do you do it for _so long_?"

"Says the man who just stared at a squirrel for half a day!"

"Hey," He waggled a finger in front of her face, scowling. "I'm just trying to protect you, you know! I've not figured out what it is yet, but when I do..." He glared at the window. "_Mortimer _over there had better be ready to use those nine lives of his."

"Doctor, its cats that people say have nine lives, not squirrels." Clara said patiently.

"Well Gallifreyan squirrels have nine lives!" He retorted.

"You have squirrels on Gallifrey?" She went wide eyed, laughing a bit in surprise.

"Of course we do. Maybe one of these days I'll teach you how to properly use that tiny brain of yours."

"Oi." She punched his arm lightly, then sighed, relaxing her hands her her lap. "God I'm bored."

"Now you're catching on!" He praised with a mocking smile.

"We were talking yesterday about going out to eat or somethin'." She offered. "New restaurant down the road I've been meaning to stop by. Want to come with me?"

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because I'm done making you sandwiches."

"I'll get my jacket."

* * *

As if things could get even more awkward.

The tall round table was just big enough for two, and the lighting in the room was fairly dark and moody. Clara short legs dangled off the edge of her stool as she clanked her heels together, risking a glance upward every now and again. The Doctor felt even more uneasy, already itching to escape the tense environment as soon as he had the chance. He sized up the odds for the likelihood of his ability to make it to the door without Clara getting a chance to slap him first, but he knew better than to even try.

"Nice place." Clara noted, seemingly absentmindedly.

"Yep." The Doctor agreed, a bit more hesitantly. "Posh."

It _was _a bit more fancy than Clara at first had anticipated. She and the Doctor had managed to dress fancy enough, but the duo still felt a bit out of place in the, as the Doctor had very well put it, _posh _little community.

"Ah, hello." A young waiter in equally fancy dress positioned himself on the edge of their table, small notepad in hand. "What can I get you...er...lovely couple this evening?"

"Oh, we're not-" Clara hastily clarified.

"Very much not." The Doctor piped.

"Most _definitely _not." The two risked a sidelong glance at each other when the other wasn't looking, then returned their attention to the man.

"Ah." He gave a slight nod. "Father and daughter. Of course."

"My god, that's even worse." She buried her face in her palms for a brief moment, then looked back up with tired eyes. "Just get us some water, thanks." She said a bit too shortly, feeling guilt at the sight of the man's flustered haste as he walked away.

"And some wine!" The Doctor called after him, earning a nod of understanding from the man in reply, and a frown of disappointment from the woman across the table.

The two sat in silence for several more moments, bother afraid out of lingering embarrassment to meet the others gaze.

"Worse?" The Doctor finally spoke up, clarifying.

"Hmm?"

"Them thinking that I'm your dad. That's worse?"

"Well, yeah." Clara laughed, raising her eyebrows out of surprise. "I mean, come on. _You _being my _dad. _Is that not a bit weird? Its plain wrong, is what it is."

"And me being your boyfriend, _isn't _wrong?" He chuckled, biting his top lip with an expression of mocking interest.

She didn't reply.

"Clara Oswald." The Doctor reclined in his chair, crossing his arms and allowing a smirk to light up his face. "At least buy me a drink first."

As if on cue, their drinks were delivered, and both companions blushed a deep scarlet.


	13. Not Quite Always Alright

_**December 13th**_

She'd not watched telly since he'd shown up. She knew how much he despised such a domestic entertainment option, so she'd respected that and left the television screen darkened for the past two weeks. _Two weeks. _Not that Clara was some kind of screen addict, of course, but in her own home, surely she earned just an hour or so of sitcoms right?

"No." The Doctor peeked his head around the corner, peering darkly into the living room the moment he heard the television switch on. His brow was furrowed in a no-nonsense demeanor, and he took a few angered steps forward. "No!"

"My flat, Doctor! I can watch telly if I want." She scowled, pointedly flipping through the channels, putting a bit more force on each button than necessary. "If that's just so horrible for you, you're gonna have to live with it."

He set a hard frown on his face, stomping straight up to the set and ripping a few wires apart that were tangled behind, sending a few sparks flying ablaze. "No T.V."

"What the hell!?" Clara howled, jumping to her feet and running to the wall to access the damage. "What was that for?!"

"You know I hate that thing."

"And?"

"So why'd you turn it on?"

"Because what you like and don't like, _Doctor_, doesn't decide what I get to do in my own home!" She shouted, raising herself onto her tiptoes in hopes of looking a bit more intimidating than a 5'1'' control freak.

"Look at you." He poked her forehead a bit roughly, sending her off balance. "So emotional just over a few torn wires. You're going domestic on me, Clara Oswald."

"I'm human. _I've always been domestic_!"

"Yes ma'am." He raised his hands slightly in mock-surrender, retreating a few steps.

Clara crossed her arms and sighed dramatically, kicking at the corner of the sofa before plopping herself down onto the cushions. She reclined against the back, gaze fixed on the ceiling, ankles crossing and uncrossing absentmindedly. "Fine, then." She said at last. "Looks like you have to find some way to entertain me now."

"I beg your pardon?" He quirked an eyebrow and his lips hitched downward in a confused frown.

"Tell me a story." She said hastily before her previous words could be misinterpreted.

"I don't do bedtime stories, Clara." He said dubiously.

"It's four in the afternoon." She noted with a shadowed smirk. "Doesn't count as bedtime." She shifted a bit and patted the seat next to her, casting him an inviting glance. "Come on, then. Quick as you like."

The Doctor's feet shuffled a minute during his indecisive battle before he let out a reluctant groan and did as he was told. He flinched when Clara pat his knee, and brought his eyes warily to hers.

"Go on." She encouraged, blinking repeatedly, smiling in a way that just screamed, _I win. _

"Can't I just fix the telly instead?" He begged halfheartedly. "It would give me something to do."

"I'm givin' you something to do right now." Her eyes widened a hair in what seemed to be now genuine interest.

"Well, what do you want me to tell you about?"

"Gallifrey." Clara felt him physically tense at the word, thick unease suddenly ringing in the air. His gaze was fixed on nothing, a huge, unexpected look of despair overcoming his features. "So?" She prompted not quite as eagerly, lightheartedly nudging his ribs with her elbow. "You manage a king title up there? Or queen?" She hesitantly went on when he said nothing, doing her best to keep the moment light. "Should I start calling you Mr. President now?"

The Doctor's features loosened ever so slightly, but his expression never changed. To Clara, it was readable even in the considerably dim light. Sometimes, the man was so impossible to read. She thought him to be bipolar from time to time, never seeming to manage to make up his mind, one moment being kind and gentle, the next being dangerous and heroic. But now, it was something about his eyes that sparkled in the faint darkness. The way his bottom lip trembled for a split second, only Clara's warily trained eyes managing to notice the movement. The way his breathing sped up and his hearts hammered so hard she could feel the echoing beat as she grasped his hand.

"Doctor?" She whispered, the word just barely making its way past her lips. She watched his face, watch his sad expression harden into an angered one, and gripped his hand a little tighter. Realization dawned upon her, and she battled for a few moments whether or not to address the suspicions. But she knew far to well that if she didn't, he never would. Opening up had helped her... maybe it would for him to.

"She lied didn't she?" Clara finally asked, voice barely audible, a little squeak of surprise catching in her throat when the Doctor returned the grip on her hand. "Gallifrey wasn't really there."

It took longer than she would have liked for the Doctor to finally speak up. "Yeah." He whispered in confirmation. "She lied."

"I'm sorry." She managed to say. She'd experienced loss again and again, and it had hurt so much. But still, she'd never understand the pain of losing one's entire home... entire species. Anything she'd been through was like crying over spilled milk compared to what the Doctor had to live with.

"Yeah."

"Are you okay?"

In a way, his words were slightly inspiring. Clara had felt pain. Felt such a strong emotional pang that she'd felt like the world was crumbling down all around her. Nothing had mattered anymore. She hadn't had anyone anymore. No one to look up to, no one to hold, no one to hug. And it had hurt. But still, she'd gone on denying both to the Doctor and herself that she was fine, constantly insisting again and again that she was okay.

But it wasn't pain and sorrow as much in his next words as it was admittance. Something it had taken far to long for Clara to come to terms with; the confession that she _wasn't _always alright. Which left her amazed and beaming with an odd sort of admiration as he finally spoke.

"To be quite honest, Clara," His words tapered off, voice cracking. "No."


	14. Final Confession

**_December 14th_**

The next day wasn't nearly as difficult and downcast as she'd initially expected. Maybe she wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. It wasn't like she foresaw the Doctor lying around depressed all day. No. He wasn't her. He was much, much stronger. Even in his moments of utmost pain, he never truly allowed it to show - at least not unintentionally. Sure, there was the odd tear that escaped every now and again, the glassy fixed gazes on nothing in particular, but overall he held onto that mindset that forbid him from any type of emotion bleeding through. So no. The day wasn't downcast. The Doctor wasn't moping around with emotionally pained groans. He wasn't wallowing in self pity. He pressed on, just as he always did. Just as he always _had _to do. Maybe it was another 'curse of the Time Lords', Clara thought. Or maybe, he was just an impenetrable brick wall.

He definitely _used _to be a wall alright, but Clara was beginning to think that the wall was on its way to becoming just forgotten wreckage pretty soon. It was tearing down. The Doctor's wall emotion seemed to slowly be breaking down. Even though Clara had opened up, resolved the majority of her internal suffering, and overall reached her healing, she _still _had that wall put up. She didn't want to show her emotions. Not ever.

But maybe the Doctor would change that. Because from what she saw, lately he just seemed less and less - well - impenetrable.

"Its your move."

Clara had been sitting hunched over in thought from her place on the sofa for an exceptionable amount of time. At the sound of a voice she looked up, took a sip of her tea, and set the cup back down on the table in front of her. "What?"

"Its your move." The Doctor repeated simply, burying his hands deep in his jacket pockets and swaying indecisively from side to side before settling on the sofa next to her.

She shifted over to get a proper look at him, crossing her legs beneath her and resting her hands in her lap. "To do what?"

"Well," He looked away for a brief moment, clearing his throat. "To talk."

"I already told you everything." She informed him with the slight tilt of her head, and her lips hitched upward in a confirming smile. "Nothin' else to talk about."

His expression remained the same, showing his discomfort and disbelief. "Where's the boy?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you know where he is?"

"What would make you think that?" Clara's voice raised a notch out of surprise, and her eyes widened. "I told you he ran away."

"But you just seem... so..." His mind raced for the right word, but Clara beat him to it.

"Accepting?" She blinked a couple times, and lowered her head.

The Doctor drew in a nervous breath and nodded. "Yes... Accepting. Clara," He hesitated. "Do you know something?" She shook her head. "Anything?" He prompted, but when she failed to reply again, he didn't know what else to say.

"Doctor, " She stammered, bringing her hardened eyes to his. "He's been gone for weeks. The police have been searching... _I've _been searching. They haven't found anything." She pressed her palm against his mouth when he opened it to speak, shooting him a silencing look. "He's been through a lot. And I mean _a lot. _Doctor, he died, then came back. His family is dead, he's in a different country, living with someone he doesn't know," She shook her head. "I'd be surprised if he was even still alive." She sighed, leaning to the side against the back of the couch. "The police said they'd be surprised too."

"So that's why-"

"It was easier to accept him being dead than not know if he was dead or just... suffering." She forced a smile. "So yeah. That's why."

The Doctor felt the need to apologize, but as soon as he opened his mouth his words were interrupted by a lengthy yawn. He shook his head to clear it and blinked a few times, earning a little chuckle.

"When was the last time you slept?" Clara asked, tone soft, more than happy to switch subjects.

"Oh, a week or so." He waved a dismissing hand in front of his face. "I'm not due-" His jaws stretched wide a second time, and his eyes dropped. "-yet."

"I beg to differ." Her lips quirked into an amused lopsided smile. She leaned over to pat his shoulder, standing as she did. "Get some sleep." She heard him huff behind her back. More of a scoff, really.

"Oi." She turned around and pointed her finger in his direction, brow furrowed threateningly. "Not playin' around, here. Get some sleep."

"You're not my mum." He reminded with a smirk, rising to his feet and brushing his hand over her shoulder as he walked past. "I don't need to sleep." He stopped and leaned against the doorway as another yawn protested.

"Yeah, whatever." Clara shoved him through the doorway. "You can sleep in my room if you want, so long as you actually _sleep._"

"Clara." He whined, dramatically throwing his head back and pushing against her. "I don't want to!"

She leaned against him, using as much force as she could to push him further inside her bedroom. "Get in there!" She managed to catch him off balance for just enough time to shove him onto her bed and slam the door shut behind them. "Sleep. Now."

The Doctor groaned loudly in protest, but peeled off his shoes and removed his jacket without further protest. He shot Clara an indignant scowl, trying to remain on top of things when still, he knew, he was in desperate need of sleep.

"You big baby." She teased, joining his side and lifting the blankets for him to easily slide in, ignoring the confused looks she received. "Get some sleep." She smiled with satisfaction as he lowered his head to the pillow, turning over to hide his embarrassment at succumbing so easily to her wishes. "See you in the morning."


	15. Cliche

_**December 15th**_

"I can't believe we're having to bloody walk all the way home."

"We wouldn't have this problem if you'd just filled up the gas tank, Clara."

"I told you to do it!" She howled, angered, spinning round to face him.

"Well when did you do that?" He asked in the most unconcerned tone possible.

"This morning, when you went into town."

"I walked."

"You what?"

"You just _assume _that I know how to drive. I walked!"

Clara froze in her tracks, eyes widening a hair as she stared at the Doctor incredulously. "You can't drive?"

The Doctor sighed. "For the love of-" He grasped her coat sleeve and forced her onward, sending bits of snow flying forward with each connection her boots made with the ground. "No, Clara, I can't drive. Why would I? I've got the TARDIS."

"2000 year old alien with an odd obsession with Earth," She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I assumed you'd be able to drive."

They'd just emerged from a simple diner just three miles from Clara's home. They'd arrived around five in the afternoon and stayed for hours, talking, laughing, doing something the rarely got the chance to do. Enjoy each other. The sky was jet black by the time they'd gotten into the car to leave, and in the minutes of bickering and shouting that followed, snow flurries had begun to flutter down from the sky.

Now the two trudged on through the mildly thick layer of snow that coated the ground, arms wrapped around themselves, teeth chattering, desperate for warmth.

"How much further?" The Doctor asked with a slight tint of annoyance in his words. He blinked away the snow that clung to his lashes and ran a hand through his hair, shaking away the little flurries that spun around him.

"Should get there in twenty minutes or so at this point." Clara coughed out, words trembling just as much as the rest of her. She cursed at herself under her breath for not wearing a thicker coat instead of the impossibly thin cardigan she had. If she had, she wouldn't be practically _dying _of hypothermia. Then again, she also wouldn't if the Doctor had just filled up the damn tank like she'd told him to. It was his fault. She shot him a look that screamed the accusation, but he just laughed it off.

Still keeping his stride matched with hers, the Doctor tried to hide an amused grin as he glanced in her direction. "Maybe you should stop blaming me and start paying attention where you're going."

She brought her gaze back to the direction she was walking, but not in time before she ran head on into a light pole. She gasped and fell backwards, but not before the Doctor seized her hand.

"Again," He chucked, helping her back to balance. "Enough with the blaming. Let's just get out of this damn snow."

Clara muttered something under her breath, it was barely audible, but the Doctor took it to be a sort of reluctant apology. He just gave a smile with half his mouth as he did, and trudged on.

"Now that I think about it," She sniffed. "Wouldn't be able to drive home anyways. Look around." She gestured to the streets. "Roads are closed."

"Guess that rules out taking the coach, then." He grumbled.

Ten minutes later, they still had a long ways to go. Clara's face felt numb, her rosy cheeks stinging. She pulled her beanie a little further down on her face, allowing it to partially shield her eyes. Suddenly she felt a bit of pressure weighing down on her shoulders and back, and looked to the side to see the Doctor draping his coat over her.

"Bit cliche." She muttered with a weak laugh, shrugging it off and passing it back over. "Don't want you catching your death. Here."

"Time Lords are less susceptible to cold." He promised. "Bit of a souped-up metabolism. I'm not too cold. Take it."

"You sure?" She asked, but was already wrapping the warmth around her.

"Yes, Clara, its fine."

A few minutes later, Clara guess that they were hopefully just a mere five minutes from home. She'd ceased her shivering, but was still unexceptionably cold even with the Doctor's jacket held close. Even he was obviously uncomfortable in the London winter temperatures. "Almost there." She said, relief apparent in her voice, and the Doctor did nothing but nod in reply, glancing over in her direction and making a split second decision. Ignoring his own inward protests and the confused mutters from her he received, he inched sideways and wrapped a long arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arms up and down to generate a bit of extra warmth.

"Thanks." She said shakily, smiling with gratitude and gratefully leaning against his side. She wasn't that cold anymore, really. But this was a moment she hadn't been granted the chance to experience in quite a long time. She missed the closeness. Missed the contact, and she didn't know when she might receive it again.

"Come on." The Doctor sighed, picking up the pace. "Let's get home."


	16. A New Type of Weakness

_**December 16th**_

It wasn't a matter of weakness at this point. It wasn't a worry that she would seem susceptible, vulnerable, or _mortal _by being unable to prevent something so human.

It was the way the Doctor was laughing at her that burned her insides with rage.

Clara had stumbled through her bedroom door late in the morning, coughing and sniffling. Being out in the cold for so long the night before hadn't done her much good, apparently. She wasn't too sick, just feeling a bit worse for wear. But her own comfort hadn't been her problem for long.

"Shut up!" She whined miserably, crossing her arms and frowning at the sight in front of her. The Doctor was doubled over in the most intense laughter she'd ever witnessed from the man. His eyes were squeezed shut, his coffee mug was dangling weakly and loosely from his grasp, contents spilling all over the carpet and onto his shoes. "Stop!" Clara demanded again, leaning back against the wall with the roll of her eyes.

"Well-" He was interrupted by another choking sort of snicker, leading up to a whole new fit of uncontrollable laughing. He straightened himself a bit, no longer attempting to suppress the chuckles as he gestured to her bright red nose. "You sure do know how to be festive!"

"You know, you _could _try being a bit more sympathetic!" She cried. "Look at me."

"Oh, I'm looking at you alright!" The Doctor sat himself back on the couch, wrapping his arms around his middle in futile attempts to suppress the exaggerated laughter. "Think I'll start calling you Rudolf the Red Nosed Oswald."

"Don't you dare." Clara weakly warned him, turning her back and taking several angered stomps into the kitchen.

"Clara the Red Nosed Rudolf."

"Shut up." She called over her shoulder.

"Oswald the-"

"Doctor!"

"Fine, fine, sorry." He held up his hands slightly in mocking surrender, placing his hands on his knees to haul himself up from the couch and propel into the kitchen. "I'm good."

"Glad to hear it." She muttered, rubbing her temple with her palm while mixing her tea with her free hand. "Goodnight." The word was stated with gruff impatience poorly hidden behind it.

"Clara, it's almost noon."

"Yes, thank you. Now goodnight." She pushed past him and made for her room, but the Doctor stopped her along the way.

"You can't go back to sleep!" He insisted. "You just woke up."

"I'm also ill, so I say I have the right to a quick kip." The last word trailed off as her jaws stretched wide in a yawn, shoulders slumping in exhaustion in its wake. "Don't destroy anything while I'm asleep."

"You know I can't promise that."

* * *

Clara only slept for a mere hour due to the impossibly painful headache that dragged her out of unconsciousness. It was really the only main bit that was causing her to feel a bit under the weather. Maybe whatever she had would pass in a day. She hoped so. She still had some Christmas shopping to do, and wasn't one of those crazy shoppers who waited until the last minute.

Well, this counted as the last minute, she supposed. But she'd been busy!

She really wasn't feeling all that bad. Maybe a quick trip and some fresh air would do her some good. With a decisive sigh she rolled out of bed, keeping her movements as smooth as she could manage, and slipped on some decent clothes. When she walked out, she half expected to see the Doctor busied with a disassembled refrigerator or a dissected ham. But the last thing Clara had expected was to see him flipping through channels on the television, muttering words of disappointment with each click of the button.

"Doctor?" Clara laughed out, smiling with light amusement when he clicked off the T.V. and threw the remote across the room as casually as he could manage. She continued to work her way across the room, feeling his own slightly embarrassed stare boring down on her.

"I was bored! You can hardly blame me." He said hastily.

"I don't blame you at all." She assured, feeling a bit guilty for reasons she wasn't quite aware of. As she slipped on her shoes she called over her shoulder, "I'll be back in a little bit."

"Where are you going?" He asked, an odd sort of concern laced into his words as he jumped to his feet and made his way to her side.

Clara glanced up warily, hand drifting a bit hesitantly over the door knob. "Shopping. I won't be gone long."

"Correction. You won't be gone at all." The Doctor grabbed her wrist and gently led her away. "Can't have you traipsing about town while you're ill. The sooner you get better, the sooner you can relieve me of my boredom."

She quirked an eyebrow at that. "Down, boy." The last word trailed off as she turned her head to break into a short fit of coughing, groaning in its wake and sighing in reluctance. "Honestly, I'm not feeling that bad. Certainly not bad enough to lay around the house all day."

"Don't care. _You,_" He started leading her in the direction of her bedroom. "Get some sleep."

"But I just-"

"Clara." He silenced her with his glare just as much as his words. "Bed."

"But-"

"-_Now._"

Clara threw her head back and let out a dramatic moan, but knew better than to argue any further. She leaned against the wall as she peeled off her shoes, shuddering in surprise when she felt the Doctor's steadying hand on her shoulder. "You do realize this is gonna backfire, yeah?" She teased. "If I'm actually sick, you're gonna be stuck lookin' after me." She waggled a finger in front of his face as a mocking threat before retreating into her room. "And don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're an alien!"

The Doctor closed the door behind her, laughing a bit to himself as he settled down onto the sofa. "I look forward to it."


	17. Human Nature

_**December 17th**_

He was flipping through channels again.

The Doctor had pretty much given up on any proper entertainment. With the TARDIS still locking him out, he had no escape to the little gadgets and mechanisms that _maybe _could entertain him a bit. Even if he had to strip apart the console and put it all back together again, he'd do it. He just needed to relieve the boredom.

He'd tried doing that with a few of Clara's household items, actually. He'd disassembled a couple lamps, added a few intergalactic channels to the television, but as soon as he'd begun his work on the refrigerator, Clara had come storming out of her bedroom, red-nosed as ever, shouting 'I knew it!' and 'Get away from that thing before I bloody smack you.'

God, she was cranky when she was sick.

It was pretty late in the morning. The Doctor had been up all night, of course. He was far from due for his next rest. But for some reason, the daytime was just more frustrating than the night when he had nothing to do. Maybe it was because he was so used to Clara being up and about, yelling at him for this, occasionally slapping him for that. On her less moody days they'd manage to pop out for a bite to eat, something even the Doctor had grown to enjoy in this domestic period of his life.

But now, today and yesterday, the night _and _day plagued him with boredom. He was probably more eager for Clara to get better than she was.

On that note, he suddenly got to wondering how she was. Yesterday he'd been quite the jerk, in her words. Again, sickness and Clara didn't mix well when it came to her harsh tone. He had to say though, he was quite proud of his Rudolf jokes.

But she'd already nearly slept half the day away, as well as most of the day and night yesterday. She'd gotten up a few times, but only briefly. She'd come sluggishly out of her room, complaining about a headache, demanding tea, (again with the crankiness), or piling herself on the sofa for minutes at a time before finally going back to bed.

Maybe he should check on her. See if he could request getting her anything without having a pillow thrown at his face, and a husky voice telling him to get out.

Before he even had the chance to stand, he heard the bedroom door creak open, and saw a mass of blankets emerge from the opening, Clara peeking out from somewhere inside. She disposed of the duvet in the doorway, only to wrap her arms around herself and let out a little shudder upon doing so. She shuffled her feet, coughed, and flicked some disheveled strands of hair from her eyes as she crossed the room.

"If I get a single Rudolf joke out of you..." She warned, eyes narrowed threateningly even in her state.

"I'm all Rudolfed out." The Doctor chuckled, reclining back against the sofa and crossing his arms. "Any better?"

"Do I look it?" With an exhausted sigh she plopped herself down on the sofa, eliciting a surprised sort of gasp from the Doctor as she collapsed sideways, head resting on his shoulder. Before he could protest, Clara spoke first. "Shut up, skip the awkward bit, and blame it on the fever if you like. Cos I'm not planning on moving unless you want to carry me all the way to my bedroom."

He managed to shut up. Sure, he could blame it on the fever. But skipping his natural awkwardness was a bit more of a chore. The Doctor tensed up, commanding his muscles to relax, and giving a sidelong glance to the top of Clara's head.

"God, you've got a bony shoulder." She complained, shifting up slightly. "Move your arm." The Doctor silently complied, extending his arm out sideways from where it was previously pinned between their bodies, to allow her better access to a comfortable position. She sighed contently, but he remained rigid and speechless. His hand stuck straight out to the side, not sure where to land. With a reluctant sigh, he lowered it, millimeters at a time, before finally wrapping his arm around Clara's middle.

"There you go." She encouraged with fluttering closed eyelids, laughing weakly. "Bit of your old self, there. I'll make an actual real life person out of you yet."

"Shut up." The words didn't come out quite as harsh as he'd expected them to. They were... soft. Almost sympathetic in his own sort of gruff way. His muscles were relaxing too... even responding a bit to the touch by holding her tighter.

The effects that girl had on him would never fail to fuel his somewhat forced annoyance.

It wasn't long before Clara's breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm, and her annoyed jabs at him had ceased. Her eyes were closed, hands tucked beneath her chin, features relaxed in a way that made it clear she was sleeping soundly. The Doctor argued with himself on what to do. He couldn't just sit there all day. Could he move her without waking her? Maybe. It was worth a try.

First he removed his arm, slowly loosening the grasp she'd apparently had on his hand and maneuvering it back to safety. Then he began shifting sideways, pausing ever so often when her breathing would catch. He'd wait for her to slip back into full oblivion, then inch his way outwards again.

With one final budge, he managed to slip away from under her and jump to his feet. Clara made a little discomforted sound as her head hit the cushions. She shifted around in her sleep, trying to get comfortable, looking fully discontented but never waking.

The Doctor started to walk away, but kept finding himself glancing back. He should just walk away and let her sleep. She'd be fine.

But something in him, something still lingering from his last regeneration wouldn't allow him to leave her uncomfortable.

"Clara, Clara, Clara." He whispered, not loud enough to wake her as he tentatively walked to her side, gazing down at her sleeping form. He slowly bent down, taking his time to work his arms under her body. He mentally counted to three then hauled her up into his arms, shifting her in his grasp so that she was gently leaning against him. Still, she never woke, but clutched weakly at his jacket in her unconscious haze.

He worked his way to her bedroom and was just as careful lowering her to the bed, gently settling her head down on the pillow and tucking the discarded duvet up to her shoulders. He brushed his fingers over her warm cheek, closing his eyes for a moment to savor the closeness before walking away.

"Quit making me human."


	18. I've Missed it Too

_**December 18th**_

This day wasn't _quite _as boring as he'd been expecting. Sure, it could have been a lot nicer, sure, he could have had a _bit _more entertainment. But constantly fretting over someone did seem to pass the time a bit.

Clara was no better than she had been the past two days. She insisted her condition was improving, and while the Doctor willed it to be true, it certainly didn't look it from the outside. One hell of a cold she caught. It bothered him more that he thought it would seeing her in such a miserable state.

He found himself pacing outside her bedroom door, gnawing relentlessly on his thumbnail as he contemplated on what to do with himself. Clara was fine, of course. It was just a cold. What he was more worried about was himself. Not his boredom, not his inability to remain in one spot for more than five minutes, but what the hell he was gonna do with himself once he got up the courage to go in there.

He'd gone in once or twice earlier that morning when she'd called for him, requesting water on one occasion and the other turning out to be just unconscious murmurs that his sensitive ears had picked up. But that was hours ago. She hadn't been out of her room all day, and the Doctor was slightly concerned. From his place so close to the door he could hear her. Hear the bedsheets shuffling as she tossed and turned, hear feeble cries and quickened breaths. He should go in there. He really should. He should check on her.

But then what? Would it just be a, _Hi, just dropped in to say I can't stay _situation? He didn't want to get stuck waiting on her hand and foot... nor did he want to leave her without any sort of comfort.

Next thing the Doctor knew, he was opening the door. His subconscious had once again won over and was leading him inside.

It was a good thing, too.

Clara was asleep, but not in any way soundly. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her lids and her fingers were twined tightly with the bedsheets. Barely audible sounds of distress escaped her lips and a single hot tear rolled down her cheek.

"Alright." The Doctor whispered, not even hesitating before seating himself on her bedside and taking her hand. "Alright, Clara. Come on. Wake up." He gave her cheek a few light taps with his palm in attempts of rousing her, but she refused to cooperate. Frowning, he took her shoulders and rocked her lightly back and forth. "You stubborn Londoners. Wake up!"

At the sound of his booming voice, Clara's chest heaved as she gasped upon awakening, eyes flying open and scanning the room worriedly. She sat straight up, breathing heavily, wiping a hand across her sweat soaked face before finally managing to slightly relax.

"You okay?"

"Mhmm." She murmured, blinking some of her dizziness away. "Fine."

"Nightmare?" He asked, keeping his voice uncharacteristically low. He went on without waiting for an obvious answer. "What about?"

"Don't remember." She rested her chin in one hand and closed her eyes, trying to subside a fit of coughs that caused her to double over and lean forward.

"Lie down." The Doctor commanded, one hand at the nape of her neck and the other on her shoulder as he allowed her to lean back, and gently lowered her head back to her pillow. He whipped out his sonic and scanned her whole body, squinting and twisting the device around a couple times to properly decipher the readings. "You're at the top of the roller coaster." He said with a grin. "You'll be way better tomorrow."

"Thanks." Was all she said, turning over onto her side to face away from him and tuck the covers up around her shoulders. "You can go. I'm fine."

"Alright, then. I'll go." He muttered.

"Okay."

"Do you want me to go?"

There was a long pause. "No."

With a half smile, he seated himself back on the edge of the bed and rolled her back towards him, laughing at the sight of her disheveled hair and lethargic expression he could just now make out in the low light. "Then how about I stick around? Not like I have much to do, anyway."

"Sure its not too domestic for you?" Clara teased, last couple of words faltering and trailing off as she yawned, eyes fluttering closed.

"I'm sure. Rest up. Need my friends in top shape. Never know when we might get attacked by a flying monkey or something."

"A flying monkey?"

"You never know!"

She just smiled, hand drifting across the bedsheets until it found his. "Thanks."

The Doctor didn't flinch, didn't tense, but managed to find himself at ease as he coaxed her back into a deep sleep. He moved her damp bangs out of her eyes and smoothed her hair flat against her head, savoring that closeness that he finally didn't have much problem breaching. He inwardly when he heard her sigh contently, and saw her features relax as she finally succumbed into full unconsciousness.

Even after that, the Doctor stayed in place. He reclined against the headboard, lifting his feet up onto the bed with him and shifting a bit closer to Clara's sleeping form. He made use of the closed distance by lightly stroking her forehead with his fingertips, increasing the action when she shifted closer, a subconscious indication that she was enjoying it.

"Do you realize how bloody bored I've been?" He asked teasingly, tone low enough to prevent her from wakening. "With you wasting your time in here, and all. Haven't had much to do. You puny little humans, getting yourself ill just by being out in the cold. How are you still even alive? Idiot pudding brains."

She muttered something in her sleep, moving even closer until she was curled up at his side, head in his lap. The Doctor laughed and began running his fingers through her hair again. "The human race. So funny. So little, yet so big at the same time." He gazed down at Clara, brushing his fingers over her cheek. "So oblivious, yet so intelligent. So strange and at odds, yet so pretty." He shook his head, eyes wide. "Interesting!" He corrected himself. "So interesting."

He was tensed up again, hand ceasing its movements. What was he doing? What was he _thinkin_g_?_

He once again began plotting to escape from beneath her. But Clara wasn't in as deep of a sleep as he thought. Just as he began to move she caught his hand, pulling it close and laying her head against his palm.

"Don't you dare." She muttered tiredly.

"Clara-"

"Please. Give me this." She begged, keeping her eyes closed and curling up closer to him. "I've missed this. Don't leave. Not yet."

"Clara..." It was the only word he could get out, but _I've missed it too _was trying to break free from behind his lips.


	19. Time Lords Don't Make Toast

**_December 19th_**

"Come _on, _Doctor. Six days until Christmas and I've not done a wink of shoppin'. I promise I won't be gone long."

The Doctor gripped Clara's wrist in both of his hands and leaned back, using more of his own weight than he thought he needed to to drag her backwards. "Wrap your tiny human brain around this and come away from the door." He grunted the words out as he continued to pull.

"But I'm all better!" She argued, gripping the door handle with the little bit of strength she'd gained back. "You idiot. Let me go! Doctor!"

"I'm just trying to make sure you don't die, is all! _Pardon me_, Miss Oswald!" He let go with one hand to grip her other wrist, prying her fingers off the door knob and pressing both her hands together, gripping them hard and pinning them in between their close bodies. "Go. Sit. Down."

"Why?!" She whined, head tilted backwards like a disgruntled child as she stomped in place.

"Because you're ill!"

"No, I'm not! I'm all better!" She tried to tug away but his hold on her only tightened. "Doctorrrrrrr." She groaned with frustration, regrettably giving the wall a single bang with her head.

"Clara, I will pick you up and throw you on the couch if I have to." His threat fell on deaf ears as Clara struggles continued on. "Fine then!" He held both her wrists tight in one large hand and spun her around so that her back was pressed against him. He let go just long enough to wrap both arms around her middle and haul her into the air, barely dodging her flails.

"Put me down! Doctor!" She kicked and twisted until he released her onto the sofa, but even then her struggles continued on. She made it to her feet and started to dart away, put the Doctor just pushed her back down and pinned her shoulders to the back of the furniture item. Clara finally gave up, breathing heavily and flicking some frizzled hair from her eyes. "Okay." She sighed, biting her bottom lip and glaring at the man above her. "Okay. You win. Now _will you let me go_!?"

The Doctor was hesitant at first, but slowly eased himself back, never even blinking in case Clara decided to make a quick escape. In sudden realization at his victory he smirked, sitting down at her side and giving her knee a casual pat. "That settles that, then."

Her physical protests were over, but she was still as cross as ever. With a scowl she gave her arm a rough punch, ignoring his dramatic _Ow! _and continuing her arguments. "This is my home. You can't hold me hostage."

"Watch me."

Her face was hardened, but soon her features relaxed and a small smile grazed her lips, soon followed by a tired laugh. "Oh, Doctor." She sighed, relaxing against the back of the couch. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"What am _I _gonna do with _you_?" He restated, frowning slightly before withdrawing the sonic from his pocket and giving her a quick scan. "How're you feeling?"

"I told you, I'm better." She insisted, crossing her arms and lazily tilting her head in his direction. "You can stop fussing. You're worse than Mum used to be." She involuntarily shuddered when he brushed the back of his hand across her forehead after discarding the sonic.

"Still not a hundred percent better, maybe about ninety-two, but that's to be expected." He gestured to her whole being with an amusingly twisted frown. "Human and all."

"I'm a bit tired, but otherwise I feel completely fine. I swear." After a long pause she went on. "Can I _please _leave? Wait, why the hell am I even asking you?" She pushed herself up. "My home. I can do what I want."

"No you can't."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because if you try to leave I'll just have to do this!" The Doctor shot forward and wrapped both arms around her waist, tugging her back down and flipping over so that she rolled to the opposite side of the sofa along with him.

"Doctor!" It wasn't exclaimed with anger now, but tinted with a laugh and a smile. Her struggles weren't as realistic as before, nor were they weakened by illness alone. She didn't want to get free. "Let me go!"

"I'm good." He held her tighter, laughing as her small hands worked themselves free and began to feebly pushing against him. Finally, after several more minutes of pointless battling, she gave up and sank against him.

"I hate you." She chuckled, resting her head back on his chest until she caught her breath, then coaxed him to permit her to roll back over onto her own side of the sofa. "I really hate you sometimes."

"Nah." He flicked her ear before rising to his feet, crossing over to the kitchen in a few long strides. "Hungry?" He called.

"Um," Clara hesitated. "I live here. My job to do the cooking."

"I don't mind doing it today."

"But you're an alien."

He glanced over his shoulder and quirked an eyebrow. "So are you."

Clara sighed and reclined sideways. "Fair enough. Besides, I'm not near ill enough to have so little coherence that I'd say no to _that. _Make me some toast, will you?"

"On it."

As soon as the Doctor disappeared into the kitchen, he rammed himself into the counter and banged his head against a cabinet door. _I don't mind doing it today. _Why the hell would he say something like that? Of course he minded! He was a 2000 year old alien with two hearts and twenty-seven figurative brains and look at him.

_Making toast._


	20. Just an Hour

_**December 20th**_

"You can't come with me." Clara explained slowly, backing towards the door with her hands slightly raised.

"Of course I can." The Doctor argued, keeping up with her pace and hovering above her with annoyingly raised eyebrows. "You can't expect me to just sit in here the whole time you're gone!"

"And _you _can't expect me to drag your whiney arse all over the shop. You're staying here, and that's that."

"Clara." He growled, brow now furrowed. "We went over this. When you're not bossing me around, I get quite bored! Surprisingly enough the control freak inside of you is quite entertaining!"

"Hmm, okay then." She nodded. "I'll boss you around now, if you like. _Sit _down. And _stay __here!_" She continued backpedaling until she ran into the door, hand fumbling for the handle with here eyes still trained on the aggravated man in front of her. "Go away!"

"Fine!" The Doctor shouted, slamming his fist into the wall and stomping away.

"God, you're so dramatic." Clara muttered before slipping out the door, racing down the hallway before the Doctor could come after her again.

He waited several minutes after she'd gone, then sat back on the couch and started laughing. He cast a glance across the room, gaze fixed on a certain little squirrel sitting outside the window. "Its just you and me, Mortimer." He laughed sinisterly, lips twitching in a smirk. "Just you and me."

* * *

She'd been gone an hour.

She'd been gone one damn hour.

And this was what she came home to...

"Doctor!" Clara shouted after recovering from her initial shock in seeing such a disaster. Her hands were trembling with rage, eyes dangerous, and expression screaming _run. _

The place was a mess. Litter scattered the floor, accompanied by a little blotch of brown fur here and there. Her favorite lamp was broken into dozens of pieces on the carpet, the cushions on the sofa were torn, the curtains were ripped, and a long crack covered the corner of the open window.

"What did you do!?"

The Doctor stumbled in from the bedroom, little red scratches coating his face and a disoriented look in his eye. He crossed his arms and blew a little tuff of fur from the corner of his mouth, and leaned sideways on the doorway. "So what did you get me?"

Clara's eyes widened and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, bouncing slightly on her feet in failed attempt to calm her nerves. When it all failed miserably, she stormed up with frightening speed and delivered a sharp smack across his already bruised cheek.

"Ow!" He cried, fingers flying to the attack site and assessing the damage. "What was that for?!"

"Look around! What do you think!?" Her eyes widened even more when she caught sight of the fur on his cheek, and raised her hand alarmingly to brush it away with a disgusted scowl. "YOU ATE MORTIMER!?"

"Clara! What the hell are you talking about! I didn't eat the damned squirrel!"

"What's wrong with you!?"

"Nothing! I didn't eat the squirrel!" His voice lowered a notch. "Just took him in for questioning is all."

"Doctor..." She warned, pressing her palm against his chest to shove him into the wall. "What did you do?!"

"Your little friend and I had a bit of a disagreement." He scratched the side of his face.

"Did you hurt him? Doctor, did you hurt the poor thing?!" She slammed her hand against his shoulder in anger. "You're sick."

"I didn't hurt it!" He defended himself. "Turns out..."

"Turn's out, _what, _Doctor?" Clara hissed, still shaking with fury.

"Turns out he was just a bloody squirrel all along." A look of regret crossed his face for a brief moment, before faltering into and attempted smile as he tried to awkwardly laugh the moment away. "Who knew!"


	21. Houston, We Have a Problem

**_December 21st_**

"Clean it up!" Clara hissed with a deep scowl, moving the lower part of her mobile away from her mouth. "Right now." With her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder she continued to traipse through the flat, searching frantically for her keys which seemed to have magically vanished from existence once again. Meanwhile, the Doctor was slowly dragging himself around, reluctantly picking up the bits and pieces of his disaster remaining from yesterday.

"'Course I haven't forgotten. See you in an hour, yeah?" Clara distractedly asked the person on the other line, biting her lip in anxiety as she toed on her heels. "Thanks. See you, George." When the call ended she threw the phone onto the ripped sofa, eyes wide and hands slightly raised. "Houston, we have a problem!"

"Who was that?" The Doctor was more than grateful for the opportunity to end his suffering. 'Tidying up' wasn't in his job description.

"Remember George Maitland?" She asked over her shoulder, still scowering the kitchen for her car keys. "I completely forgot he called the other night to invite me to dinner. They know I'm busy later this week so they want me to come over tonight. Or," She glanced at her watch, groaning. "In less than an hour I should say."

"What's the big deal, then?" He wondered aloud. "Just go."

"Long drive." She explained, sighing in the deepest relief when her search came to an end. "But that's not the only problem."

"It never is, is it?" The Doctor sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back on the wall. "What?"

"The kids want to see you."

"Yeah... that might be a slight problem."

"I couldn't just tell them no, could I?" She exclaimed, brow raised. "Artie especially wants to see you again. It _has _been over a year you know." She pointed out. "And Angie said she misses your chin."

"Well, I'm sure I can just glue a waffle cone to my face and she'll never know the difference!" He smiled sarcastically, pushing past her to sit back dramatically onto the sofa.

"What are you doing? We need to go." Clara said urgently, ushering him towards the door.

"But I can't go there looking like this!" He shouted, gesturing to his face.

"You can change your jumper later. Now move."

* * *

"Listen. Just be still, shut up, and let me do the talking." Clara ordered as they walked nervously up to the front door with a mask of confidence. "Don't say anything, don't do anything, just... be normal for an hour or so, yeah?"

The Doctor just grumbled his reply, sticking his hands awkwardly in his pockets as Clara knocked on the door.

"Clara!" Artie was the one to emerge from behind the wooden pannel, immediately flying forward to wrap his arms around his former nanny's small frame. "Its so good to see you."

"My god, look how tall you've gotten!" She exclaimed, pushing him back slightly and ruffling his hair with her free hand. "How've you been?"

"Quite well, actually." He grinned, then turned to call over his shoulder. "Dad! Angie! Clara's here!"

Angie was the next to appear, arms folded over her chest and a bored expression on her face. But Clara knew her well enough to see the excitement in her eyes bleed through. "Get your bratty self over here and give me a hug."

A slight smile shown through and she walked forward with small steps, giving her old friend a little one-armed side hug.

"Hallo." The Doctor waved his hand in front of their faces and tapped the top of Clara's head. "I still exist. Hi, there."

"Who's he?" Artie frowned, looking back and forth from both adults.

"Um..." Clara still hadn't come up with her strategy for explaining yet, and she welcomed the soon after presence of George as a good distraction. "Hey, you!" She greeted, hugging upon his friendly command.

"So great to see you." He smiled, then drew his gaze up to the lanky stick figure of a man to Clara's left. "Ah. Mr. Oswald, I presume." He extended his hand for a friendly shake, but the Doctor just eyed the appendage warily.

"Oh, he's-" Clara pushed herself in between them, shooting the Doctor a subtle warning glare before forcing a smile in the Maitlands' direction. "He's not my dad. He's a friend."

"You said you were bringing the Doctor." Angie stated, rolling her eyes. "That's not the Doctor. He's stupid."

After a tense minute of unsure replies and awkward stares, they broke the silence.

"Let's go inside, shall we?" Clara managed, watching the family enter first before following close behind. She twisted around to give the Doctor's ribs a nudge with her elbow. "Play along." She whispered.

"You're the boss." He sighed, looking bored as ever as he shuffled his way into the house, straitening a bit when Clara slapped his shoulder out of annoyance. "What am I supposed to do, anyways?" But she didn't answer just worked her way further inside and seated herself at the table with the children, instructing the Doctor to do the same. George busied himself for a few minutes doing a few last minute preparations, dosing out drinks and meals.

"So," He cleared his throat once he himself sat down at the table with everyone else. "How'd you two meet?" He asked, gesturing to the odd duo sitting closer than anyone else.

Clara knew what he was assuming, and could easily detect his unease and uncertainty, but managed to play along. "Oh, long story." She said simply, managing a dismissing laugh. She saw the two siblings across the table exchange an amused glance, but tried her best to ignore it.

"Why couldn't the Doctor make it today?" George prompted.

"Well... that's the thing." She bit her lip and looked up at the Doctor for help, but he just smiled a smile that said, _Do go on. _"He um..."

"Oh, for the love of god." The Doctor sighed and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a large waffle cone which he positioned on his chin. "Its me! See?" When he could swear he heard crickets chirping and saw nothing but confused glances in his direction, he reached his hand into the bowl in front of him to pick out a piece of bow tie pasta and placed it on his collar. "Hello!"

Everyone, even Clara just stared at him for a moment. The children were glancing at each other, actually considering the possibility, while George just tilted his head in confusion. All the while, Clara was scowling at him, using all her self control not to smack him right then and there.

"Dad," Artie said nervously, brow slightly raised as he turned to face his father. "How long was I asleep?"


	22. Movie Day

_**December 22nd**_

"Okay. So," Clara clasped her hands in each other and wrung them together, slowly making her way across from her bedroom to the living room, where the Doctor was sprawled out on the sofa reading _The Adventures of __Robin Hood _for perhaps the fourth time that day. "Here's the thing."

He never glanced up from his read. Didn't even seem to take notice that she'd spoken. "I'm still not convinced that that bloke was the real thing, you know." He muttered, brow furrowed in thought. "Very well could have been a Nestene Duplicate. It would make more sense than he did."

The mutual act of simply not caring what the other was saying continued on. "We've all got our traditions," Clara carried on. "For some its-"

"If you're about to ask me to kiss you under the mistletoe, I'm moving out."

"No, you idiot." Clara sighed, feeling a sot of disappointment of which she couldn't quite pinpoint the origin. "I've got a bit of tradition of my own, and decided to give you a fair warning in advance."

"And why exactly do I need a warning?" The Doctor lowered the book to look at her with owlish eyes.

She crossed her arms and tapped her fingers lightly against her bicep. "Before my Mum died, we'd always spend the three days before Christmas at home. We'd watch Christmas movies, mainly. And even after she died, I decided to-"

"-Stop." The Doctor silenced her mid-sentence. Before Clara could react he was on his feet, long index finger pressed against her lips "Shush." She knew that she'd only be filled with more reasons to be irritated with him in the moment if she tried to talk, so reluctantly complied. "Now," He continued on. "Are you about to ask me to watch Christmas movies with you for three days?"

She began to reply, to explain to him that she didn't expect him to sit around with her for days and do nothing but stare at the telly. She just planned to ask him to tolerate it long enough to not bother her.

"-Ah." He stopped her once again as soon as she began to talk, this time covering her mouth with his entire palm. "Just nod or shake your head. Yes or no?" Clara's eyes went wide and she mumbled something inaudible against his hand, but he just shushed her again. "_Yes _or _No_?"

After a moment of uncomfortable shuffling, Clara found herself nodding. And to her considerable surprise, the Doctor just smiled.

"Okay then." He grinned in a way that in fact did _not _say 'drop dead' as she'd expected it to. Instead he just gave her cheek a friendly pat and sat himself down on the sofa before she could say anything else. "Well don't just stand there. Let's get this started! Oh, and close your mouth while you're at it. You'll catch flies, dear."

* * *

They were already on their third film of the day and the Doctor... _wasn't _flailing uncomfortably. Sure, his constant chatter got a bit annoying, but that was as far as he went. He'd actually managed to sit completely still for nearly three hours, now. Clara was more than impressed.

"I did that once." He said, gesturing to the oversized elf on the screen eating gum from underneath a railing in New York City. "Remind me to _never _do it again."

"If we ever go to New York together, I'll be sure to remind you of just that." Clara promised with a little laugh, patting his arm and giving him a mockingly soft look that said, _Bless. _

"Syrup on spaghetti..." His eyes lit up in a sort of frightening way. He looked down at the woman beside him who was comfortably relaxed against his side. "Can we have that for dinner?"

"That's disgusting!" Clara argued.

"You're saying to a man who is obsessed with fish fingers dipped in custard." He pointed out with the slight tilt of his head. "That's no weirder."

"I didn't know you still liked that." She gave a little hum of interest, then the two fell silent as the movie continued on.

"Please don't fall asleep on me." The Doctor warned as he noticed her blinking a bit more frequently than normal. "You're considerably heavier than you look, actually. I don't fancy carrying you all the way to your room again. Honestly, lighten up on the sandwiches."

"You're one to talk!" She laughed, shifting herself up to a more comfortable position but still resting her head on what part of his shoulder she could reach.

The film carried on. The people sang Christmas carols, the father quit being a huge grump, the elf got the girl, and they all saved Christmas.

"Aw, what a sweet ending." The Doctor said sarcastically, smiling with forced sweetness and blinking several times out of annoyance. He glanced down at Clara, waiting for some scowling remark at his 'impatience' or 'inability to enjoy a nice film'. But she was staring blankly ahead, body limp, and her eyes began to flutter closed. "Oi." He jerked his shoulder a few times until her eyes opened back up. "I don't mind you laying on me, but if you fall asleep, I'm not moving you."

"'Kay." Was all she said, yawning in the process. She sat up and stretched, then laid against his side again.

"Don't fall asleep."

"I won't."

"If you're tired, just go to bed."

"No."

His eyes widened a bit and he stared at her incredulously. "What?"

"No." She laughed tiredly. "I don't want to get up, and you're more comfortable than you look," She began, sliding down until her head was in his lap. "So you want me to move, you gotta carry me."

"I _just _got done saying that-"

"Yeah, about that." She shrugged. "I don't really care."

"Clara." The Doctor groaned, poking at her back. "Get up."

"No."

"I can't get up with you laying all over me like this."

"That's you're problem, not mine."

"Oh, for the love of..." He sighed, banging his clenched fist against the arm of the couch. "Okay! You win!" He tried to ignore her victorious smirk as he placed his hands under her shoulders moving her into a sitting position before slipping his arms under her and lifting her up. "I wasn't joking." He frowned. "Lay off the sandwiches."

"Shut up." Clara giggled and laid her head against his chest, still smiling the whole way to the bedroom. "Thank youuu." She chimed once they arrived at her bedside, and laughed when she was dropped straight onto the mass of pillows.

"Yeah, whatever." He grumbled. "Wait, why did I carry you all the way in here instead of leaving you on the couch?"

"Gotta ask yourself that, Time Lord."

He frowned at first, but a slightly amused grin managed to flicker across his face. "Get some sleep."

"Yes, Doctor." She chuckled, but buried herself in her blankets and closed her eyes obediently.


	23. Yet Another Movie Day

_**December 23rd**_

"We're doing this _again_?"

"I told you, I do it each three days before Christmas."

"Well that doesn't mean _I_ have to do it, does it?"

"At this point," Clara smiled sinisterly and gave him a taunting wink. "Yes you do."

"Well, that's just great, isn't it?" The Doctor sighed and whacked his hands against his thighs, throwing his head back and twirling around with the subtle roll of his eyes. "I was just being _nice, _Clara. I decided to be nice and shut down the idea of your ridiculous human tradition. How was I supposed to know it was a commitment?"

"Because you should know me well enough by now that I wasn't gonna let you escape after you got into it the first time." She giggled with an amused smile as she grabbed onto his arm, leaning against his side as she started shoving him towards the sofa. "Go on, you."

"What are you making me watch this time? I'm prepared to come up with a ridiculous scenario to get out of this if I so choose." He said gruffly, but didn't protest too much as Clara shoved him down onto the cushions.

"_A Christmas Carol_." She informed him with an excited grin as she plopped down dangerously close to his side. "I think you'll find Mr. Scrooge a bit familiar."

Half way through the film, the chatter was even worse than before.

"This is nothing like the book." The Doctor exclaimed with a frown, gesturing to the television incredulously. "I mean, look at his nose."

"Correction, its exactly like the book." Clara stated, crossing her arms. "And its not like you could see his nose when readin' it."

"If you're clever enough you can." He smirked.

Clara managed to work a few of the kinks out of the Doctor's relaxation issues. It took a bit of scolding, reprimanding, and the occasional slap, but by the time they were on their second film he'd actually managed to somewhat shut up.

The silence was a bit awkward, actually. The closeness and the lack of frustrating conversation was very out of character for the duo. And it got worse... in a not so horrible sort of way.

In the most cliche way possibly the Doctor's arms stretched out sideways as he yawned. His right arm came to fall behind Clara, hand on her shoulder as he pulled her a bit closer. When she looked up at him and quirked an eyebrow in surprise, he just shrugged. "If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do right."

"If we're gonna do what?" She questioned.

He just shrugged again. "Be domestic."

"So in your book, domesticity means cuddling..."

"This is not cuddling, Clara. Don't say rubbish like that." He rolled his eyes. "And there's a book on being domestic? Mind if I borrow it for a while? I could use a good brushing up on the skill."

Clara just shook her head and smiled warmly, leaning against his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist. "Nah. I think you've pretty much got it down."


	24. It Finally Does Turkey

_**December 24th**_

She wasn't going to do this again. She wasn't going to wait until the very last minute to do all her preparations. She was going to plan ahead. She was going to save herself the stress.

But if only she'd decided on all of these things at the right time.

"Clara, do we really have to do this again?" Dave Oswald asked, exasperated, reclining slightly in his seat at the dining table as he watched Clara buzz from one end of the flat to the other. "I told you we should have done this at your Gran's."

"Not as if I'd have done much better." Her Gran muttered. "Ever since your father died, David, I'm just as lazy as you are."

"Excuse me?"

"Both of you..." Clara sighed, leaning back against the dining room wall with her palm over her eyes. "Please just shut up for a minute." She glanced around for a moment, eyes narrowing in consideration. "Where's Linda?"

"Home with the flu." Her dad informed her. "I told you that already, sweetheart."

"Yes, yes. Sorry. Right." She wrung her hands together with a sort of firm, determined frown. "Okay."

"How's the turkey coming along?" Dave prompted, not bothering to in anyway shield the impatience in his tone.

"Er..." Clara hesitated and forced an encouraging smile. "It's definitely coming." She cleared her throat as she began backing away towards her bedroom door. "If you'll just excuse me a moment." And with that, she spun around and darted into the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her.

"Doctor, I need you." She hissed to the man seated with boredom on the edge of her bed.

"What happened to, 'Oh, stay in here, Doctor.'" He said in a high pitched voice. "'Don't mess things up, Doctor.' 'Don't let them know you're here, Doctor.'"

"Shut up!" Clara groaned, walking up and seizing his hand, hauling him up. "Please. Just help me."

"Well, you have to be a little more specific than that." He argued. "Help you with what, exactly?"

"I did it again! I put the turkey in too late, and its not ready yet." She let out a sort of strangled moan as she knocked her head against the wall, scolding herself for her own errors.

"Well we can't use the TARDIS, in case you haven't noticed." The Doctor pointed out, knuckles rapping lightly on the blue box's doors for show. "So what do you suppose I can do?"

"Your screwdriver. Its been a good while since last Christmas." She smiled hopefully. "Does it do turkey now by any chance?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes and made to retort a sharp _Of course it doesn't. _But then his features contorted slightly in consideration. "Actually-"

"No time to explain! Gimme, gimme!" Clara reached inside his jacket and began fishing for the item, but her hands were swatted away with an annoyed scowl.

"Hold on." He retrieved it himself and peered at the emitter, thumb pressing against the button a few times before he finally passed it over. "Its already set. Aim it at the turkey for about twenty seconds, give in a extra fives minutes in the oven, and it should be edible."

"_Should_?"

"I can't do all the work around here! Now go! Shoo! Shoo!" He spun her around and pushed her lightly towards the door, waving her on and immediately closing the door behind her.

* * *

"Well, then." Clara sighed, leaning against the closed door once all her guests had vacated the area. "That didn't go completely horrible." She found herself laughing, closing her eyes with relief, and locking the door with a triumphant smile before walking off. "Doctor, you can come out now!" She called.

"Its about time." The Doctor grumbled, voice gradually growing in volume as the bedroom door opened wider and wider. "That family of yours sure knows how to chatter."

"Thank you." She laughed out, internally squealing. "Thank you so much." She walked up to him and gave his chest a light pat, grinning with a little nod of satisfaction. "You know, I underestimated you." She noted.

"In what way?"

"Just didn't expect you to listen, for one." She admitted, then shrugged. "But I dunno. Just..." She smiled. "Thanks."

"Well, I did save your pitiful excuse for a Christmas Eve dinner, so I guess a thank you will do for your demonstrated gratitude." He said in an almost posh voice, but his hardened expression faltered into a warm grin. "You're welcome.


	25. The Right Person

_**December 25th**_

He wasn't sure whether or not he should answer it. Who knew who it could be. Anything from some assistance needed at that pitiful school of hers to just some nosy parker wanting money for a fake cause. It could be something important. It could be something completely unimportant, too. He shouldn't answer it. He _wouldn't _answer it.

"Clara's phone." He said with a wide grin with the mobile pressed against his ear. He risked a wary glance behind him at the woman's sleeping form, and slowly slipped out of her room without waking her.

"Can I speak with Miss Oswald, please?" A male voice came from the other end.

"She's not awake. Who is this?"

Five minutes later, the Doctor's hearts were fluttering with excitement. Maybe this Christmas wouldn't turn out quite so boring.

* * *

Clara was roughly awoken by a cold hand gripping her shoulder and rocking her back and forth. Someone was shouting her name, and she could feel a simultaneously increasing and decreasing pressure on the edge of her bed. With a little groan of annoyance she slowly cracked open her eyes, frowning at the Doctor who was bouncing at her side like an energetic child.

"Clara, get up!" He howled into her ear, his face dangerously close to hers. "Right now. Come on, you. Up up up!"

"Doctor." She winced against the bright light in the room, and closed her eyes again. How long had she been asleep, anyways? "Go away." She muttered, rolling over onto her side and burying her face into the mass of pillows.

"But Clara, its Christmas." He argued.

"Yes it is." Her voice was barely recognizable due to the muffled sound her pillow offered. "Which means I get to sleep in."

"Oh, no it doesn't!" He howled, laughing in such a cheery way that Clara was drawn out of her pretend coma by curiosity alone. She let out a sort of yelp of surprise as she was brutally attacked, the Doctor bunching the duvet up around her and lifting her up into his arms.

"What the hell are you doing?" She asked groggily, but feisty all the same.

"Bit of a surprise for you, Miss Oswald!" He grinned wildly, spinning a full circle before depositing her on the living room sofa. "And you can't be in bed if you want the full experience."

"Doctor, what's gotten into you?" Clara tilted her head in suspicion and lifted herself back to her feet, slowly walking in his direction with a bit of a cautious stare. "Are you okay?"

"Clara Oswald." The Doctor shook his head with closed eyes and a wide, toothy smile. "I am most definitely okay." He put both hands on either side of her face and crouched until they were eye level. "And so are you."

"Of course I'm okay." Her laugh was a bit more of a nervous one, one of her hands coming up to cover his. "Doctor, you're acting like..." She shrugged. "Well, him."

"Who, you mean Bow Tie?" He asked with raised eyebrows, twiddling his fingers in front of his neck like he used to when straightening the little purple tie. "Suppose I am." He said thoughtfully, but still seemed wholeheartedly unfazed.

"Doctor." Clara approached him again with slightly raised hands and narrowed eyes. She gripped his shoulders to hold him in place, relieved when his relentless pacing came to an end. "Tell me what's going on."

"Oh, you'll find out in," He knocked her hands away and glanced at the clock. "Oh, ten minutes or so."

"Okay." She sighed, nodding slowly but giving up on any attempt to draw information out of him. "Alright."

"Now, in those ten minutes, there's something we need to do." The Doctor informed her, withdrawing a considerably large tree-top star from his large pockets. "I notice your lack of Christmas Tree topping. Let me guess. Another tradition? Or are you just lazy?"

"Yes, actually." She noted. "Mum and I used to wait until Christmas Day to put the topper on."

"I'm not going to bother asking why, since that is of course an absurd idea." He shook his head relentlessly. "But, alas! Christmas Day." He tossed it to her, chuckling when it nearly fell out of her grasp. "Ready?"

Clara was still very much confused. Not only was the Doctor acting completely out of character, and quite frankly making her a tad nervous, she was almost dreading what 'surprise' he had in store. That man could be quite unpredictable. For all she knew, he could have gotten her a dinosaur egg as a gift. But nonetheless, she just shrugged it off. If the Doctor was managing to get this excited over to what she assumed he saw as a pointless holiday, she was going to savor every minute. "Okay, then." She nodded with a little laugh, crossing the room to the fairly large tree her dad had gotten her when she'd first moved in. "Um." Clara tilted her head, staring at the top of the tree and extending her arms as high as she could. "I can't reach." Once again, she was squealing in surprise. The Doctor placed his hands on her hips and lifted her straight up, just long enough for her to properly place the star before he hastily lowered her back down.

"My god." She giggled, leaning back against him with a little friendly nudge in his side. "Well, there we go."

"Not bad." He mused. "Not bad at all."

They played around like that for a while. Chasing each other back and forth, collapsing onto the sofa for a giggly breath before jumping up and goofing off again, just acting like complete kids. When around ten minutes had passed, Clara stopped him, hand in his, and looked directly into his eyes.

"Doctor." She sighed, giving his hand a brief pat. "The anticipation is killing me. What's going on?"

The Doctor didn't reply at first, just grinned wildly. "I'll let the adrenaline drive you mad first." He smirked, he himself desperately ready for the arrival of what was coming.

When there was finally a knocking on the door, both companions shot a wary look in its direction.

"Go on." The Doctor encouraged. "Its for you."

"Should I be nervous?" Clara asked warily, slowly backpedaling towards the door and only earning a shrug in reply. "Here goes nothing." With a preparing intake of breath, she slowly turned the door handle and swung the door open. "Er, hi." She furrowed her brow in confusion. In her doorway, was in fact a policeman.

"Ah, Clara Oswald I presume?"

"Yeah." She nodded slowly, scowling and casting a glance over her shoulder. "Doctor, what did you get in to?!"

"No, miss, nothing like that." The officer laughed.

"Well then what's this all about?"

"Well." He just shrugged, laughing continuing. "Merry Christmas, Clara Oswald." He looked to his left and extended a hand, whispering something Clara couldn't quite catch.

Next thing she knew, she couldn't breathe. Clara took a few steps backward, one hand over her mouth and the other on her chest. Her eyes were wide. She couldn't believe what she was staring at.

The current things she was feeling felt familiar. She wasn't sure if this was an actual reality. If she was actually staring into the face that she thought she was.

But... it was real. He was there. He'd come home.

"Oh my god." Clara flung herself forward and wrapped her arms around the boy, tugging him to her and laughing in relief when his own small arms wrapped around whatever part of her he could reach. "Oh my god, I though you were dead."

He still didn't speak, and she wasn't entirely sure why, but when he pulled back he had such a bright smile on his face that Clara's heart felt like it was actually melting. "I can't believe this." She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see the smiling face that only belonged to one man. "What did you do?"

"Pulled a few strings." He shrugged, then tilted her head when several moments passed that she didn't say anything. "You will find your mouth beneath your nose." He joked. "You may care to use it."

Clara started laughing uncontrollably. Adrenaline surging, the impossible happening, it only seemed natural for her to grab the Doctor's jacket and pull him in for a kiss right then and there.

"I didn't mean like that!"

When she pulled back, she giggled at his awed expression, but drew her attention back to the child. She and the officer exchanged a few words before he bid he farewell and walked off, leaving the trio with much catching up to do, and an elephant in the room they needed to tame.

* * *

It was late at night, at that point. Clara had the boy, who's name she still couldn't figure out, tucked lovingly into the comfortable bed she made the sofa to be. He still wouldn't talk, but that was okay. She didn't need words to tell what was going through his mind. He was happy to be back in a safe place. Clara didn't know if he regretted leaving in the first place, but that didn't matter. He was back, and that was what was important. "Goodnight." She smiled, turning off the light before departing to her bedroom.

"Well, would you look at that." The Doctor's musing voice came from the corner of the room, where he was staring at the doors to the TARDIS and had his hand lightly running across the wood. "She's awake."

"How d'you mean, she's awake?" Clara questioned, crossing her arms and leaning against the box at his side.

"And," He went on, unfazed by her comment, and drew his attention slightly upward. "She's turned out to be a bit more festive than I realized."

Clara's eyes went wide as she caught sight of the mistletoe dangling from the top edge of the TARDIS. Bells seemed to jingle in the distance and the green leaves shone. She eyed the Doctor curiously, but he just shrugged.

"Seems like we're not gonna be let in unless-" He broke off, but Clara didn't need words to know what he was going to say. He changed the subject somewhat, but the elephant in the room was unavoidable. "Why did you kiss me?"

She solely shrugged, confidently meeting his gaze. "I just did."

"Well you shouldn't have."

"And why do you say that?"

"You just shouldn't have, alright?" He growled, and Clara raised her hands slightly in surrender.

"But it appears," She smirked, looking up and running her fingers over every detail of the mistletoe. "We have to do it again."

"Of course we don't." The Doctor scoffed, shaking his head vigorously. "I'll figure something else out."

"You've not been able to figure anything else out all month." She pointed out.

_Well, I wasn't exactly trying too hard, you do realize. _"Well I'll figure it."

_I see right through you, you know. _"What are you thinking about?"

The Doctor just shrugged. _The forbidden. _"How to get inside this bloody thing."

"But, we both know, there's a way to." _Just kiss me you idiot. _

"But that can't happen." _No matter how much I admit I enjoyed it the first time. _

"Would you rather be trapped here with me forever? Because that looks to be your only option." _You're so slow._

_I wouldn't say rather, but I certainly wouldn't mind. _"I'll figure it out."

Clara watched him for a moment. She could read his expression better than he himself could, probably. That man was so readable, even in the most unreadable of moments. She could see it in his eyes. She could almost hear how fast his hearts were racing. She knew what he was thinking. And the thing was, she was thinking the exact same thing.

She dared to take a step closer, frowning in sympathy at the war that was probably swarming through the Doctor's mind. But she managed to bring it all to an end, with just a single string of words.

It wasn't an _I love you. _It wasn't cliche. It wasn't a large declaration of love, or a promise of commitment, or even more than what it appeared to be. It was just a simple few words. A simple string of words. But it definitely did the trick.

"You will find your mouth beneath your nose." Clara whispered, already rising on her tiptoes and raising a hand to palm his cheek. "You may care to use it."

And with that, the Doctor broke every rule in the book. Every rule from his planet, every rule he'd had with previous companions, even those recent personal rules of his when it came to close contact. He broke them all, because he simply couldn't resist. Because in those past twenty-five days, he'd realized something.

The Doctor raised both hands to Clara's face and crashed his lips against hers. Bells chimed in the distance, the TARDIS doors swung open, but neither of them moved. What was the point in moving?

Because, that was what he'd learned. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe being domestic, being human, being normal wasn't so bad

Maybe _falling in love _wasn't so bad.

So long as he was with the right person.

* * *

**A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you enjoyed this little Whouffaldi version of an advent calendar. This was really enjoyable to write, and I think many of us will need it with the Christmas Special tonight.**

**Being American, I haven't had the luxury of seeing it at the same time as some of you Brits. All I know is, I re-watched Dark Water and Death in Heaven today, watched the Fault in Our Stars with my family, and now tonight I'm gonna have my heart broken by Steven Moffat. **

**A teenager can't candle this much trauma. I'm just saying. **


End file.
